


The Break-Up

by Evanguelia



Series: Pucker up, Our Passion's Spent [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Depressed Steve Rogers, Divorce, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Getting Back Together, Insecure Bucky Barnes, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Post-Divorce, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Natasha Romanov, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Steve Rogers, but just once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 158,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanguelia/pseuds/Evanguelia
Summary: Bucky stares at the papers in front of him, not daring to look up.In front of him read: No Fault Divorce Form. It was all filled out in his name, as plaintiff. Defendant; Steven Grant Rogers.“So that’s it?” He has to confirm.“Pretty much,” Natasha replies. “He can contest it. He can refuse it. You can also never show him. Doesn’t have to matter.”Bucky nods. Doesn’t have to matter. Doesn’t have to matter that he went to his best friend and colleague to have divorce papers drawn out, all in proper legal jargon, because he’s been thinking about divorce for months and months and told no one.Not even his husband.-----Bucky and Steve have been together all their lives. Bucky thought they would have made it, that they were the other half of the statistics. He thought they would have found their way to each other in the end. Life is funny like that sometimes.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Pietro Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Pucker up, Our Passion's Spent [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915921
Comments: 429
Kudos: 466





	1. Ground Zero

Bucky stares at the papers in front of him, not daring to look up.

In front of him read: No Fault Divorce Form. It was all filled out in his name, as plaintiff. Defendant; Steven Grant Rogers.

“So that’s it?” He has to confirm.

“Pretty much,” Natasha replies. “He can contest it. He can refuse it. You can also never show him. Doesn’t have to matter.”

Bucky nods. Doesn’t have to matter. Doesn’t have to matter that he went to his best friend and colleague to have divorce papers drawn out, all in proper legal jargon, because he’s been thinking about divorce for months and months and told no one.

Not even his husband.

Not that he could tell him, not now with Steve being away on his “classified” missions he can’t talk about or update Bucky about for three weeks.

He sighs. “Thanks, Nat.”

A pause. She doesn’t move or talk.

“I’d appreciate it if…”

“I don’t shout from the rooftop that you’re considering serving Steve with divorce papers? Ah, dammit James, too late…”

He frowns. “Great time for jokes.”

“I’ve been a divorce lawyer for how long? You think everyone goes through with it? Now that I’m your official attorney, we have privilege…”

“I know,” he cuts in. “I also work here. 7 at my place? I’ll get takeout.”

She nods. “Fine. I’ll get wine. We can…discuss.”

Natasha is Bucky’s best friend for a reason. He nods back. She taps the paper one last time, doesn’t give him a smile and closes the door behind her.

Divorce. What a big word. He stares at the page like it’ll give him an answer. It doesn’t. What he does know it’s that it’s 2pm and he does have work to do. He is not only the IT manager at the Potts and Hogan, Attorneys at Law firm, he’s also the risk assessment manager and he is busy all the time. Maybe the numbers will give him the answer.

Case in point, fucking Pepper Potts knocks and opens his door with the warmest smile. She is just a genuinely nice, happy person and Bucky lets himself hate her a little. He manages a half smile anyway.

“Mrs. Potts, how can I help?”

She looks down on his desk and Bucky catches himself before he swears and turns the pages away.

“Oh, James,” she can’t help but say because she does care, and she is so warm, and Bucky wants to die.

“It’s…uh…please don’t worry. It’s a thought. It’s a…”

“I’m so sorry, James,” she cuts, and he knows she means it. She met Steve too, she must think Bucky is crazy. “Is this a good time?”

Bucky looks away because he’s not going to cry at work. He’s sure as hell not going to cry in front of his boss either.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. I…Natasha is technically my attorney, so I had her…It doesn’t matter,” He’s not lying because Natasha said this herself. “How can I help?”

Pepper gives him a wry smile but does tell him what she came here for.

*****

“So, I am a moron,” he declares fatefully.

They’ve been at it for a while.

Bucky loves Natasha, he really does. Since they met, they’ve lived in each other’s pockets. They just function the same way. It’s easy and it works. But Natasha isn’t just Bucky’s best friend.

“You want the answer from Nat your friend or Mrs. Romanova, your lawyer?”

“Either,” Bucky grumbles. “Both. Just tell me what I should do.”

“So, Natasha your personal therapist.”

Bucky sighs dramatically. “I’ve only ever loved Steve.”

It’s true, too. Since he was seventeen and Steve was sixteen, they’ve been together. Before that, they were best friends. Best friends, pining for each other, but best friends still. Living on the same road, going to the same school, having the same friends. So really, since they met at six years old, they’ve been together. That makes it twenty-eight years of relationship. Twenty-eight years that he could erase with just one piece of paper.

“What about now?” Natasha asks. She knows him too well that it’s becoming a problem.

He does love Steve, still.

Once they turned eighteen, broke and in love and so goddam optimist, they joined the army. They enrolled together, shipped out separately, did two tours. Bucky became a sergeant, Steve a captain. Bucky became a sniper, Steve a strategist. Bucky hated it, Steve found a way of life. Bucky enrolled in college, Steve joined the black ops. Their lives had been straining away from each other, inch by inch and now, it was breaking.

Bucky had a master’s degree in Engineering in Computer Science from Columbia. Steve was doing God only knows what with his new secret agency of SHIELD. They never saw each other. When they did, Steve wasn’t fully there, Bucky felt like he was never wanted, like Steve couldn’t wait to be out of the door again. Their apartment felt lonely and quiet at all times.

Really, their marriage had been over before it even began. It had only been two years. They had tied the knot after fifteen years together, and for what? For the ceremony so his mom and his sisters could cry and cheer their fill?

No, that was a lie. He had loved getting married. How could even think of that day as something he had hated?

“James,” Natasha says, to cut him out of his intrusive thoughts. It does work.

“Natasha,” he replies anyway because he’s a dick.

“It’s not always so clear cut, you know. Sometimes, it’s tragic like that, because there’s so much history and love and it still doesn’t work out. That’s life for you, I guess.”

She takes another sip of her wine and Bucky wonders why he couldn’t just be into women. Maybe that would have solved it. If he had found a girl, if he had gotten married and had a couple of kids, maybe he’d be busy enough to forget about his loneliness. Maybe he’d cope.

“What would you do, if you were me?” he asks, to get himself off his reverie.

She sits straighter on the sofa. Bucky is curled up on her left side, his own glass of wine in between his chest and his folded knees. He stares at the red stain on the top of the glass. He just wants to be happy. Why can’t he just be happy?

“I don’t know,” she admits, honestly. “If Clint treated me like Steve treats you, I think I’d have left before you did. But we don’t have your history…I can’t say.”

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, best friends since childhood. High school sweethearts. Army buddies. Roommates. Best friends. Soulmates. Divorced. What a mess.

“Does Clint text you, when he’s on a mission?”

He looks up at her, but she doesn’t turn to meet his eyes. He knows the answer anyway. He knows Clint sends her ETA all the time, wherever he is. Bucky, meanwhile, waits by his phone, for the phone call he dreads. The one phone call that’ll tell him Steve has been killed in action and that they can’t provide him with more details at this point. Details he’d never get.

He sighs. She doesn’t have to answer. Steve let him go. He let Steve go. It doesn’t have to matter. What done is done.

“What am I going to tell my mom?” He can’t even hide the sobs ready to burst out of his throat.

“Oh, James.”

This time, Natasha turns around and opens her arms. He let himself slide to her, hiding his face in her neck and crying like a child. It hurts, it really fucking hurts. He loves Steve so much. Why couldn’t it just be easy? Why couldn’t they sit down and fix this mess and be better?

He sits there, half in Natasha’s lap, half on his own couch, their two glasses of red wine balancing recklessly on their sides and he cries. It feels like hours go by. Episodes of whatever tv shows was on at that point pass by. Natasha strokes his hair and murmurs encouraging words in his ear. He doesn’t want to talk. She gets it. She always gets it.

The sky is a lot darker when Bucky feels like there’s nothing else that he can get out. He lays back down on the couch, his feet in Natasha’s lap. She refills their glasses without a word. He’s grateful. She knows, he doesn’t have to say it.

They don’t talk for a while. The TV fills the silence. Bucky finishes his wine and sets the glass aside. He stares at the ring on his finger. It’s platinum, it’s plain. He takes it off and puts it down next to his glass. He feels so drained. Inside the ring, shines the carved numbers; 5.4.18. Fuck.

He starts laughing. He can’t stop. Natasha looks down at him like he just finally lost it.

“Nat, look! Look at the fucking date,” he brings the ring up to her. “It’s our fucking anniversary. Tonight. And he has no idea. He has no fucking clue. He won’t remember when he comes home either. It’s like my birthday. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a shit.”

This is what sets it off again. This is what hurts the most. For all Bucky loves Steve, Steve has checked out of their relationship. He’s not there anymore. He doesn’t care. Whether Bucky is there or not doesn’t matter. He’s at work all the times. And it’s classified, so Steve can’t give him anything. So, Bucky cries again. Natasha rubs his ankles. 

Then, because the day most apparently didn’t suck ass enough, there was a key turned in the door and here came in Steven Grant Rogers in person.

Natasha freezes and so does Bucky. He wipes at his face uselessly but then, he thinks, would Steve even notice he had been crying? Would he care? He sits back up and waits. Natasha follows his lead.

Steve fucking whistles his way into the apartment. He drops his duffle bag on the floor, cracks his back and still doesn’t check if anyone is in. Then, Bucky realizes, he was supposed to spend the weekend in Connecticut, at Becca’s house, for her baby shower. But he cancelled, because he realized that he’d be the only man there and no thanks and also, the divorce thing depressed him enough.

“I’m in the living room,” Bucky calls finally because he can’t pretend that he isn’t. “With Nat. Bailed out on Becca.”

“Bucky?” Steve replies, taken aback.

Nat sighs and goes to gather her things. It is late anyway. It can’t have been fun hanging out with her depressed, heartbroken best friend either.

“Hey, Steve,” she says as she stands up.

Steve stands in the doorway, in all his glory, beautiful as ever. Bucky hasn’t seen him in three weeks. His heart skips a beat. He loves him with all his might.

“Hey, Nat,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“I thought you’d be another week. Are you back?” Bucky asks because so many times, Steve is back for a day or a night and out the door at dawn.

“No…,” Steve hesitates. “I was just in to drop my shit, shower and then go back. I’m due at HQ in an hour and a half. Then we’re shipping out again.”

Bucky frowns. “Do you come back to the apartment like that often? When I’m not here? And not tell me?”

“No,” Steve says and it’s so obviously a lie that it pinches Bucky’s heart. Natasha must be able to tell too but she doesn’t say anything. This is clearly a topic for private time. Bucky sighs.

“Is Clint home too?” Natasha asks Steve, standing next to him, her back hiding Bucky. A small mercy, another minute for him to arrange himself properly.

“No, he…He’s not on my team. At the moment. I mean…Anymore. Uh.”

This. This is the guy that they chose to lead their super-secret black ops team that no one can know about.

Natasha nods anyway, picks up her bag, kisses Steve’s cheek and turns back toward Bucky. She claps his cheeks with a smile, maybe to make it look like he hasn’t been sobbing for hours, maybe to remind him it’ll get better. He doesn’t know. He says goodbye like an automated idiot and watches her leave. He doesn’t move from where he’s lying down on the sofa.

Now, it’s just him, Steve and a room full of half lies.

“Hi,” Steve says, crouching so he’s on the same level as Bucky.

“Hi,” Bucky repeats, turning to face him and he can’t help the warmth he feels behind his chest, like his heart is swelling.

Steve bends down and kisses him. It’s a soft and fleeting brush of their lips but it’s still electrifying. Bucky loves him too much. It’s unfair.

“Nice dinner?”

Bucky shrugs. “Good company. I didn’t want to go up to Connecticut.”

Steve hums his agreement, although Bucky knows he loves it up there. He loves the garden of Becca and her husband’s home, their dog, their friendly neighbors. Secretly, Bucky thinks he envies them. A quiet life, something secure and expected.

Steve pats Bucky’s shoulder absently, before pushing upward. He notices the empty wine glasses and Bucky can tell the exact moment he realizes his wedding ring is there too.

“You’re not wearing your ring?” he asks because Steve has never been one to let things rest.

“Itchy,” Bucky lies. They can be two playing this stupid game. Unfortunately for Steve, Bucky is much more of an asshole than he is. “Look at the date.”

Steve does and his slight frown drops. “Bucky…”

“It’s fine. It’s just a day, after all.” Doesn’t have to matter, he doesn’t say.

Steve goes back to crowd his space, wrapping an arm on his torso, caressing his cheek with his hand. Bucky hides behind his arms and sighs. “I mean it. I don’t care.”

“Can I still apologize?”

“No,” Bucky mutters. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I forgot too. I took it off and I saw the date and I realized.”

“Were you crying?”

Bucky groans. “Unrelated tragedy.”

“So, you were?”

“Steve, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

It’s a mean, dirty trick, but it does the job. Steve stands up again and takes his shirt off, seemingly noticing that he did come here for a reason. He throws it on the duffel bag he forgot in the corner of the living room.

Bucky relaxes once he hears the shower start. He’ll be alone again in a minute. This will mean nothing again. In the grand scheme of things, it will be another distant memory that will go on the divorce pros side, joining the long list.

He goes into the bedroom, strips to his boxers and flops down onto the cold, empty bed with a sigh. He does feel exhausted, deep in his bones, like he’s lived a hundred lives. The shower stops and braces himself.

Steve dries his hair in silence, he paces in the room, picks up changes of clothes. The only sound is the click of drawers’ doors and the zippers on clothes banging against each other. Bucky buries his face into the heap of pillows. He still feels Steve’s eyes on his body. A century ago, Bucky might have joked around. Might have said, “See anything you like?” with a leer, licking his lips. Now, he wants to be alone again. Being alone hurts less these days.

He still feels the mattress dip and feels Steve’s big, broad hand on his back, rubbing gently. It’s been so long, Bucky shivers. He hasn’t seen his husband in three weeks. He’s missed him so terribly. Did Steve miss him?

“Bucky,” Steve starts, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

This is the same dance they did when Steve forgot his birthday. It wasn’t really that he forgot his birthday that hurt. It was that he was gone for a month and a half, without a single text, when they had booked a weekend getaway, non-refundable too, in the country. Bucky had to drag his own pregnant sister to his sex holiday, and it had suck, on top of being weird as hell. When Steve had come back, it had taken him a full day to realize and apologise.

“I said I didn’t care.”

“I do.”

“Must be tough,” he grumbles against the pillow.

“I’ll take a month of leave. I swear, Buck. We can go anywhere.”

“I have a job too, you know. I like Brooklyn. I’m fine in Brooklyn.”

“I know, sweetheart. Please, just…Let me take you someplace. Anywhere you want. Fucking Timbuktu, I don’t care.”

Bucky rolls around the pillow to look at Steve. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, just in his underwear, fresh and clean, smelling like Bucky’s fancy soap he gets from Barney’s. He’s so beautiful, in the dim light that the streets bring in the dark room. He has one hand on Bucky’s back, one in his lap. His left, bare one, because he wears his ring on the chain of his dog tags. He’s examining it too like it doesn’t belong on his body.

Bucky switches to laying on his back and holds Steve’s right hand between his. He’s warm and solid and here. It might be only for a couple more minutes but goddamn it feels so good. It feels right. He remembers Nat’s words. It doesn’t have to matter. If they love each other this much, surely, they can fix it too.

“Come here,” Bucky breathes out.

Steve goes easily, pressing his big, broad body into Bucky’s. They’re so close, Bucky wishes they could melt into each other. That way, Steve would never leave him again. He pushes a wet, strand of hair away from his forehead. Steve kisses his wrist.

“I love you,” Bucky can’t help but say.

Steve smiles. It’s bright and full and Bucky’s heart feels complete. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says. “I’m so glad I get to come home to you.”

Bucky could let it go. He could just move on. But this pain he’s been carrying for weeks, he can’t deal with anymore. “Then why do you come home when you know I won’t be there? How often do you do that, by the way? How often are you in New York and I have no idea? It takes literally a single second to type that you’re home.”

Steve drops Bucky’s wrist and rolls to his side with sigh. “Bucky,” he says, and it sounds like a warning. If that’s supposed to be threatening, he’s got another thing coming.

“Answer the question. I mean, shit, Natasha knows where Clint is. Why, Steve? Why do you leave, and I have to hope you’re alive for God knows how long?”

Steve rubs at his temples. Like he’s annoyed. Like Bucky is the one in the wrong for only asking for proof of life.

“Clint isn’t the leader of our unit. I know this isn’t fair, alright? Do you think I love doing it? What is it you think I do?”

“Exactly! I have no idea what you do! I never know where you are or what you’re doing.”

“It’s…”

“Classified, yeah, Steve, weirdly enough, I’ve heard it before.”

They lie side by side, both on their back, their arms a couple of inches apart, in silence for a minute or two. The air hangs heavy between them. Steve is the one to break the silence. “This is why I don’t tell you. I know, ok, I do. It’s hard for us both. I don’t want to give an hour here and there when you’re owed so much more, Buck. It’s not fair.”

“What the fuck? And I don’t get a say in this?”

It’s really weird, having an argument on their bed, not looking at each other but both of them staring at the ceiling. In a way, it really feels like they’re on their last legs.

“I…I know what you’d have said. So, I didn’t say anything.”

“Forgiveness instead of permission, really, Steve?”

Steve sighs. “I really, really missed you, Buck.”

He rubs the back of his hand against Bucky’s. It shouldn’t feel that good. It shouldn’t be that comforting. Bucky takes his hand and holds on tight, lacing their fingers together.

“How long until you’re really back?”

“A week. I promise this time, Bucky, seven days and I’m home for two months if you want. I’m owed that much.”

Bucky exhales deeply. He doesn’t want to talk about divorce. He doesn’t want to talk about their problems. Steve is here, right beside him and if that’s all he can have, then he’ll at least enjoy it.

“Come back here,” he says, and Steve has a low sort of chuckle. He probably thinks he’s won for now. Maybe he has. Maybe it’s not about that. Maybe it’s late and Bucky’s wine drunk.

Steve creeps back on top of Bucky’s body. This time, he puts his whole weight on him, pinning him down like he knows Bucky loves. He can’t help but smile.

“Hi,” Steve says again.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky mutters.

“Yeah, well, if you married me, you must have been pretty stupid too.”

“Happy anniversary to me,” Bucky’s smile doesn’t falter.

“I love you, Buck. I love you so damn much.”

Steve closes the distance between them and kisses him deeply. Bucky opens his mouth and moans. How could he have forgotten how good it is to kiss Steve? He doesn’t want to blame him anymore, so he leaves that nagging part of his brain alone.

“Tell me when you’re here. Even for five minutes, I don’t give a shit,” he says when they break apart, a little breathless. Steve cups his face in his hands and kisses him again. Bucky lets his own hands go down Steve’s hips, squeezing his ass, bringing them even closer together. “I mean it, Steve, I can’t…”

“I know, Buck,” Steve says before kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “I know.”

Bucky holds back a moan when Steve bites down the side of his left pec. “Please…,” he says but it comes out more like a gasp. “Promise me. Just tell me you will…”

“Yeah, Buck. Yeah, baby, I will.”

Steve comes back up for another burning kiss. Bucky knows they’re both hard and they both want it, but Steve is still pining him down, his legs holding Bucky’s in. He’s not moving.

“Steve, come on, what you’re waiting for?”

He groans loudly. “It’s been so long, Buck. I don’t want to rush this. I want to take care of you. Please, let me take care of you.”

First of all, this is ludicrous. Second of all, what the fuck.

“Take care of me right now, the hell you need more?”

Steve chuckles. “I have to go. Believe me,” he starts kissing down Bucky’s neck again. “I wish I could.”

“Aren’t you the boss? Captain fucking America, they call you. Can’t Captain America have a break? It’s been three weeks, Steve, ten minutes is all I need.” Steve laughs then, loud and sincere. Bucky melts under him. “Babe come on. You want it too. One blowjob. Then you can go.”

“Yeah? Aren’t you the man with a plan here?”

Bucky tries his best to roll his hips against Steve’s bulk. Bucky is no slim guy here, but Steve weighs over two hundred pounds of lean muscle and he’s got two inches on him. It’s no easy feat to find a way to slide their hard dicks against each other, especially with both their boxers in the way.

“Take this off, soldier,” Bucky says, grabbing at his elastic waistband. “Show me how much you really missed me.”

Steve grins, his forehead pressed against Bucky’s. “Yeah?” he replies, just as out of breath as Bucky. “That what you want?”

It takes him a second, but he does obey, lifting himself off Bucky and disregarding his boxers off the side of the bed. Bucky does too, a little more awkwardly. When Steve presses down again, his skin just a little still humid, and warm, so warm, Bucky shivers bodily. He loves this man to the moon and then some. His whole skin has known him and only him.

“I love you,” Bucky says again, his eyes closed, focused on Steve’s weight on him, his breath on his collarbone, his hand on his head. Even though Steve knows. Even though he said it five minutes ago.

Steve brushes the hair away from Bucky’s face and kisses his brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky repeats and opens his eyes. “Let me get the lube.”

He wiggles a little to the side to grab at the nightstand on his side. He flicks the bottle open and splatters a fair amount on his hands before grabbing both their dicks together. Steve swears against his neck. They’ve done this maybe a thousand times, but it still feels so perfect. Like they were meant for each other, sculpted to fit perfectly with each other.

Steve’s hand joins Bucky’s on the other side and Bucky can’t hold back a loud moan. “Fuck, Steve, baby.”

“It’s ok, Buck, it’s me. Let me hear you.”

It’s nothing but it’s everything too. It’s definitely not enough. Bucky can’t wait to have Steve back for a whole night, not just for a hurried couple of minutes. He gets it, then, why Steve didn’t want this because it hurts in a way, to have him in his arms but only for a moment.

Steve wraps them together in his big hands and Bucky holds on to his shoulders. They grind against each other like they have done since they were seventeen. Steve’s forehead is lodged in the crook of Bucky’s neck and he’s grunting like he’s close. Bucky knows Steve’s body like it was his own. He brings his face up to kiss him. He’s missed him like he would miss breath in his lungs. It’s like he’s been turned on again after having spent weeks being off.

“I love you, Buck, you gotta know…”

“I know, Steve, I’m going…”

“Baby, I’ve got you,” Steve babbles on. He repeats himself over and over, half his words pet names, half love declarations. Bucky’s so gone for this idiot.

As Bucky warned, it doesn’t take long. Maybe longer than ten minutes but it’s still embarrassingly quickly over. They catch their breath against each other, covered in their own cum. It’s pretty gross but there’s no time to waste being apart, even if it’s to clean up.

Minutes go by, Bucky can’t really tell. He hangs on to Steve’s shoulders, wraps himself around his neck, brings him as close as he can. All the cum in between them squeezes and makes the most disgusting sound. Bucky can’t help laughing. It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t care. Steve makes a noise like he finds it funny but doesn’t have the strength to open his mouth to laugh. Only then Bucky remembers he probably hasn’t slept properly in three weeks.

“Babe?” Bucky tries. “Steve? You’re sure you can’t stay the night? They need you right away?”

Steve grunts something that sounds like a positive answer.

“Fucking useful strategist, they’re going to get. How many hours you’ve slept since you left?”

“I don’t know. A good twenty, at least. I just feel…Pretty great, right now. I’m ok, though. Double shot macchiato and I’m good to go.”

Bucky sniggers. “Sure, babe. Just lie down here for a minute.”

Steve rolls off, his eyes closed, definitely almost asleep. He lies there on his back, his right hand on his heart, like he did when he was little and used to kick Bucky all the way across the bed. Seventeen years that they shared a bed together. Nothing has changed.

Bucky goes to the bathroom and grabs a towel that he wets in the sink. He gets most of the drying cum off his stomach then goes to clean Steve up. He moans happily as Bucky gets to his groin, but Bucky swats his side. He has an unconscious smile hovering on his lips and yeah, Bucky’s done for. 

Once he’s done, he rolls into the bed and curls into Steve’s side. Steve, even already asleep, gets the hint perfectly and wraps an arm across Bucky and pulls him close. He slides his other one under the pillow. Bucky grabs that hand and puts it on his heart. Steve settles between his shoulder blades, kisses whatever skin is next to his mouth and he’s gone.

Bucky knows that when he’ll wake up, Steve won’t be there. He also knows that Steve won’t tell him when he’s back. He won’t take the month of leave either because something always comes up. The world always needs saving. For some reason, it has to be Steve going back out there and saving it, every time. Bucky knows that the whole cycle will start again, and nothing will change. He knows, deep down, but falling asleep, wrapped up together, the day of their second wedding anniversary, it feels like there’s hope. It feels like they could do it. They love each other. They just have to try harder.

Bucky falls asleep and he forgets about the divorce papers in his work satchel, tucked away between endless other work papers.

*****

Bucky wakes up to an empty bed and for how much he had expected it, it still hurts like hell. Steve has left no notes, he didn’t wake him up to say goodbye. He’ll be back, Bucky convinces himself. They can talk it through and fix it.

The following days, Bucky occupies his time between his sisters and Natasha. He even goes see a movie with Sam on Sunday and he bitterly thinks that if him and Steve do get a divorce, Sam would go to Steve. But they can fix this. They will fix it. No one will know about the papers except for Bucky and Natasha. The former being bound by privilege and the latter moody enough to take this to the grave.

So, the week passes as it usually does. Bucky leaves the empty apartment to walk the three blocks to Bed-Stuy where Clint and Natasha live. They walk the dog then take the train to work together. At night, they redo the same routine. It’s nice. It’s comfortable. It’s very lonely for both of them but it’s also their own fault for marrying who they did.

On the Friday of that week, Bucky wakes up antsy. Steve had said one week but Steve said a lot of half-truths. It wasn’t like his job ended on weekends either. So, Bucky asks to work from home that day. Now that he’s discovered that Steve comes in whenever he’s sure Bucky won’t be there, he’s hoping to meet him under his couch cushions anytime he’s home a minute earlier.

Steve doesn’t come back on the Friday. Clint does. So, Bucky meets them at their apartment for dinner on Saturday. There’s Wanda, the paralegal from Potts and Hogan, her twin brother, Pietro. Bucky sees Wanda at work every day and she’s a bit younger than him, but they get along fine. Pietro, he has seen a handful of times. He’s good company. Natasha also invited her colleague and fellow compatriot, Yelena, that Bucky loves for her quick wit and dry remarks. Kate Bishop, he doesn’t know. A new SHIELD recruit that Clint has taken under his wing. When he shakes her hand and she introduces herself in that cheery, overly excited voice, he looks at Natasha who stares blankly.

For both of them, it’s hard to interact with other SHIELD employees who get to spend more time with their spouse than Bucky or Natasha could dream of. Especially when they’re young and chiselled from marble from all these hours spent saving the world. Bucky’s got his own Kate Bishop that he secretly resents but pretends to be fine with. Her name is Peggy Carter and if he didn’t trust Steve with his heart and soul, he’d be suffocated by jealousy.

The dinner is nice. It’s good entertainment. It’s the most fun Bucky has had for weeks. He goes home and feels better about himself. Maybe he can cope when Steve is gone, when he has no idea if he’s hurt or safe, out in the cold or comfortable in a fancy hotel. The thoughts are killing him, still, but not enough that he can’t function. Again, he braces himself. He can do this.

When he gets sick on the Sunday from terrible diet habits and too much alcohol consumption, he does resent Steve for his life choices. When Clint drops a homemade chicken soup from Natasha, he congratulates himself for his. Natasha doesn’t come by because she is a busy lawyer with too many clients and she can’t afford stomach bugs, thanks, but Clint stays around for a couple of games of Mario Kart.

On Monday, Bucky takes a sick day because he still feels dizzy standing up and can’t face the subway in the spring heat. He texts Pepper who immediately has food delivered to him because she is the best boss in the world. He thanks her profusely and goes to open the door to let the delivery guy when he sees Steve on the steps of the brownstone.

Steve and fucking Peggy Carter. Because of course.

“Buck,” Steve says, dumbfounded.

Bucky sighs, because he’s still sick as hell. He pushes past Steve and gets his food. Peggy smiles at him and he grunts a greeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this, not now or ever, if he can. He probably will be able to never deal with it, given how much he sees of Steve a year.

He goes back in the apartment and finds Peggy and Steve by the fridge huddled in close, whispering to each other. Something in Bucky’s brain turns on, bright and loud and he drops his food loudly on the dinner table, perfectly across from them.

Peggy and Steve – and how much does that sound like Bucky and Steve, Bucky abhors it – whip around and look at him. Steve is doing his best “Nothing to see here, all clear” expression, which might work on someone who hasn’t known him since he was six-year-old and trying to get to stay up past his bed time.

Bucky furiously combs his dirty hair away from his face. If only he could have looked good when Peggy fucking Carter was around. So, she wouldn’t be able to gloat later around her girlfriends or whatever. All like “I know Steven is married,” she’d say in her stupid, beautiful English accent, “but you should see his husband! A slob! And the hair on him!” And yeah, maybe he should get a haircut but that’s none of Peggy’s girlfriends’ business.

When he finally crawls back out of his stupid mind, he stares at Steve. Steve’s beautiful, wide open expression, like he’s glad to be standing here, in their apartment, with Bucky as disgusting as he looks. Bucky finally registers the red splashes all over his neck and jaw, some on his shirt’s collar. Why the hell is he wearing a shirt? Steve never wears shirts. What the fuck is that anyway? The marks are red but growing pinker, like he spray-painted a half full can of red paint all over his face and neck. And chest? Then, slowly, Bucky turns to Peggy and finally, _finally_ , notices how smudged her lipstick is. Doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Bucky looks down at his hands on the table in front of him. His grip on the edge is so tight it hurts. He doesn’t know if he feels so dizzy from his bug or from sheer horror that Steve could do that to him. Of all time too, he had to pick the time that Bucky had divorce papers ready in his bag. Fucking Steve.

“Buck, I know how it looks,” Steve starts and he’s already walking towards him. Bucky wants him as far away as possible. On planet fucking Mars would be a good start.

“Do not touch me,” Bucky growls. Steve stops dead in his tracks. “Did you bring her here…Because I was supposed to be at work…And you thought you could fuck her in _our bed_?”

Bucky finally looks up and meets Carter’s steel gaze. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t speak, probably judging him as much as she wants in her little perfect head. “Oh, you would never believe the mouth on him…Steven got an upgrade with me. Everyone thinks so,” he imagines her saying in his head.

“Bucky!” Steve exclaims like he’s actually offended.

“You couldn’t wait until you were out of the cab? You were making out on the backseat? How old are you, Steve? Can’t keep it in your pants when you’re with your…your…,” Bucky has no words, “Your fucking girlfriend?”

Something breaks in his chest, hard and heavy and Bucky can feel it fall all the way down to the floor, dragging him with it. “You promised me,” is all he can manage to say. He’s crying now so that must look great. “You said you’d tell me. Even for five minutes.”

He can’t see too well through the cascade of tears coming out of him like they're finally being released after years and years. He can barely hold on to the table. Everything hurts.

“Steve, I think I should leave you to it,” Peggy fucking Carter says in that familiar, clipped tone that Bucky despises. She’s definitely thinking about how to tell all her colleagues about the mess Steve has to come home to. “I’ll see you tomorrow. James,” she says, and he hates the sound of his name in her mouth. Like she’s appalled she even has to say it.

“No, Pegs, I mean…Bucky, if you let me explain…”

Bucky dries his face with his sleeve. Still wobbly on his legs, he grabs the satchel and pulls out his work binder. He shakes it down and out, on of the floor, falls the divorce agreement that Natasha wrote a week ago. There goes that. At least, he got to do something extremely dramatic and over the top with it.

“Yes, by all means, _Pegs_ ,” Bucky spits out. “Don’t mind me. Go right ahead. Fuck on the kitchen counters if you want! Here, Steve, all you need is to get a fucking pen,” he rummages through his bag again.

“Bucky, what…What is this,” Steve says quietly as he kneels down to pick up the pages.

“Here,” Bucky ignores him, holding a pen down to him. “Fucking sign it right here and then and you’re free. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Or maybe now that you’re not fucking married anymore, the thrill is gone, huh?”

“What the fuck is this, Bucky?” Steve barks. “You want a fucking divorce? Natasha wrote this shit? When were you going to tell me?”

Steve is now down on the floor, the pages spread out in front of him like the world’s most fucked up puzzle and Bucky is bent down, on hand on the table, the other on the back of the sofa. They’re facing each other like they’re about to get physical and it’s so stupid, it makes Bucky sob even louder.

“You want this?” Steve says again, so low, Bucky barely hears it over the wretched sound of his body falling to pieces. “You wanted this? Since when?”

“Steve,” Peggy says and both of them turn to her with too much speed.

They both bark in one voice, “What!”

“I’m so sorry, James. I just want you to know I have never…,” she shuts her mouth when Bucky glares at her. “I’ll see you, Steve. Have a good…Goodbye.”

She hurries out of the door and Bucky would be embarrassed if he weren’t so fucking sad and angry.

“This is my colleague. You just had your little scene in front of my colleague, who has to trust me as a _commanding officer_ , on _enemy lines_ …”

“Who! Gives! A! Fuck!” Bucky snaps. “You’re rid of me! Well done. You can have her! The fuck do I care about this shit for anyway.”

Bucky throws the remnants of his satchel all over the floor and kicks a chair because he can’t deal with Steve anymore. It doesn’t help, the pain is still there, raw and fresh and morbid, but it takes his eyes off of Steve. 

He goes to the bedroom and pulls out whatever bag is big enough to put some suits in for a couple of days. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing but he might as well pack up. If Steve is really back, not just there for a couple of hours, then he knows he doesn’t want to stay in the apartment.

Steve is at the door, still fuming, for whatever he thinks he’s entitled to be full of rage for. Bucky deliberately ignores him. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He gave the papers. He served him, Natasha would say. Now they’re really broken up. He’s done it. Peggy and Steve can live on forever.

“You want this?” Steve repeats, louder now. He’s holding the crumpled papers in his hands.

“No, Steve, I told Natasha to take an hour out of her day to write up a divorce agreement because I was so bored and thought that’d be hilarious! One great big joke!”

Obviously, Steve doesn’t laugh. He stares on. Bucky hates him so much. He can’t fathom how his body is holding up so much hate for one single person.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Out,” Bucky says sharply. “You can call her back in. Just tell her your ex-husband had a mental breakdown but now he’s gone, and you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Bucky zips up his bag and throws it on his shoulder. Steve doesn’t budge. Steve is also an idiot who forgot that the bathroom has a door into the bedroom and the living room so Bucky just beelines it through the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and his hair stuff in one swift motion. Steve is on him by the living room though, crowding his space like he always does, and Bucky _hates_ him.

“We’ve been together since we were seventeen. Seventeen, Bucky. And you’re throwing it all away? Why?”

Bucky stares back. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you started fucking Peggy.”

“You had this written a week ago,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off him for a second. He pushes both hands on Bucky’s chest. “Even if what you think is going on here was true, you still had no goddamn idea. So, answer me. Why?”

Bucky looks away. Steve takes his chin in his hand and makes him look up. The gesture is harsh, but it doesn’t hurt or maybe Bucky is too full of everything to realize.

“Tell me,” Steve pushes, not letting go. “Why?”

Bucky feels the tears come back up. He can’t hold it in. His lips wobble like he’s fourteen years old again and he just realized he was gay, and he thought no one in the world would accept him. “It doesn’t change anything, Buck, why would it?” Steve had said then, with a little shrug, like he was ready to go down with Bucky if anything would happen, if anyone were to say anything about it. Bucky still believes that’s the day he fell in love with his best friend. The sheer courage he always had when Bucky was just a coward. Maybe all this time, Bucky hadn’t deserved him. This was the retribution that had been waiting for him.

“You were the love of my life, Steve,” he says because he can’t say anything else.

“What changed,” Steve growls. “Bucky, I love you,” he makes his voice softer, his touch gentler, one big hand resting on his hip, drawing him closer. “God, Buck, I miss you so much every time I go. Don’t do this. We can figure it out, ok? Nothing’s changed.”

“You let me go,” Bucky whispers. “You let me go, Steve,” he repeats, a little louder, a little more desperate. “Even if you want me to believe that’s the first time you did this with….,” he raises his hand to the spot Peggy stood and drops it like the effort would kill him. “Before that, you let me go. This is complacence, Steve.”

“I told you,” Steve grips both his hips and wraps his arms around Bucky, burying his face in his neck. His voice sounds wet, like he’s crying too. “I told you I would take a month off and we could go anywhere. I didn’t lie, Buck. Peggy was here for the handover…it was just quieter, I swear.”

For this angle, up close, Bucky can see the lip marks on Steve too. He probably had tried to wipe it off, but Peggy’s lipstick must have been strong and thick because it was still there, bright and solid.

“Why do you lie to me?” Bucky asks, his voice too quiet. He hugs Steve back, grabs on his broad shoulders and presses his face on there, away from the lips shape on his neck. This angle is awkward, and he feels like his legs will give out any second now. It’s like they’re oddly swaying against each other.

“I’m not lying, Buck, I swear…”

“Stop,” Bucky cuts but it’s gentle. “I’ve known you all my life. Do you think I don’t know when you’re lying? I just want to know why you think you have to lie to me?”

Steve presses himself more tightly against him. “Don’t do this, Bucky. We can fix it. People go to counselling and then they’re fine. Why can’t you just try?”

Bucky finally finds the strength to push him off. “Why can’t _I_ try?! Are you being serious right now? You’re the one who’s constantly lying. You’re the one that can’t communicate at least once a month. You’re the one fucking cheating…Steve, I can’t. Allow me this. Some dignity, at least.”

Steve stares at Bucky like he just shot him straight in the gut. For a half second, Bucky has the instinct to make him sit down and check for wounds.

“I…I kissed Peggy,” he says and that’s the most deflated Bucky has heard him sound in years. “It wasn’t…It didn’t mean what you thought it meant. We did…We kissed in the cab, but it was a mission…”

Bucky has low rumble of a laugh tucked deep in his chest that blooms out victoriously. “So,” he says between laughing fits. “Let me say it…Please…Oh, god. Oh, lord. You, making out in a taxi with Peggy Fucking Carter, the girl I shouldn’t worry about, wasn’t for cheating purposes. It was for _classified_ purposes. Oh, this is just. Cherry on top. Great, Steve. Thanks. I never thought I’d get over this but…Boy. I feel fine now.”

“Bucky…,” Steve tries but nothing else comes out.

“Goodbye, Steve. You should get your own lawyer to read over this. Text Natasha, she’d have recommendation ready.”

He picks the discarded bag he packed off the floor and Steve hovers around him, finally wordless and, once again, lets him go. Bucky is almost thankful for this ridiculous excuse because at least it allows him to walk out of their apartment without sobbing, with his head held high. Without turning again and looking at his soon-to-be ex-husband. Almost proudly.

He walks the three blocks to Natasha’s flat with his phone in his hand. He’s furiously typing long winded blocks of messages that Nat won’t see until her day is over probably, but he doesn’t care. He finds the spare key in his wallet and lets himself in by shouting loudly for Clint to put on pants.

There’s no answer. He puts his bag down in the guest room and rolls on the bed. He notices the dog isn’t there either so that’s where Clint is. He sheds his skinny jeans and shoes and cocoons himself in the cover. He feels drained. He feels sicker too. He shuffles to the middle of the bed and thinks he doesn’t have to keep a side now. He’s single, for the first time of his whole adult life.

Unsurprisingly, his chest tightens again, and he cries until the pillow sheet is soaked through. He either passes out from exhaustion or nerves or illness or all three. Result is the same. His life sucks and now it’s all on him. He did this, he asked for this. He ruined it, all by himself. The very first thing he did on his own, in his new life without Steve, was to break his own heart. Wonderful. And now, he gets to announce it to his mom too. Even better. He can’t wait for that conversation.

*****

Bucky wakes up with Natasha’s nails clicking softly on the tablet next to him. She’s in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, her hair up in a bun. He looks up to the window and notices it’s pretty dark out. He manages a croak. “What time is it?”

“9:43. You were pretty out so I didn’t want to wake you up. Clint’s made dinner if you’re hungry.”

He nods into the pillow and turns around so that he’s lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Weird how the pain has not dulled at all and he feels like he’s been opened up and left to rot.

“You read my texts?”

She doesn’t need to answer that. He knows she has. It’s been a whole day and she found him sleeping on her guest bed and left him there.

“How long have you been here for?”

“Couple hours,” she says, still focused on her tablet typing. “Had to make sure you wouldn’t choke on your own vomit.”

“Pretty sure that’s for heroin overdose, not emotional distress.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to check.” She finally puts the tablet down and turns to him. She strokes his cheeks patiently. “I’m sorry, James.”

Bucky wants to hide in a hole forever. “Also pretty sure you’re not the one that’s cheating on me with Peggy fucking Carter, so you don’t really have to apologise for anything here.”

“I’m sorry that he treated you like that. You deserved better.”

Bucky doesn’t want to start crying again so he says nothing. Natasha doesn’t push. She presses a kiss into his temple and lies back down, a parenthesis next to him, her eyes on him.

“I told Clint,” she says after a pause. “I hope it’s ok.”

“Jeeze, Nat, that means I can’t dramatically reveal my divorce to your husband? I was really looking forward to that. Please also tell me you called my mom and I don’t have to deal with that.”

“I told Becca. I was so angry…I didn’t want to wake you up, so I ranted to Becca instead. She’s good, by the way.”

He swallows. He’s glad. Becca and her perfect little life that he’s not jealous of at all. Two years younger than him and still doing so much better. He’s an asshole. He loves his sister and he is happy for her.

“Still pregnant?” he asks to avoid talking more about Steve.

“Yeah. Got another two months. She can’t wait.”

“Did my mom text me flight details or did Becca decide to let me do the honours and announce it myself?”

Natasha rummages for his phone under the covers. She pulls it out and inspects it first. Bucky knows why. He knows she’ll hide the texts from Steve for now and just let him deal with it later. When she’s done, she hands him the phone. Nothing from his mom. Small mercies.

“I should call Becca. I should have gone to her stupid shower. I should have moved out a month ago. What am I doing, Nat?” he sighs deeply. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You can stay here as long as you want. I mean, this room has been yours since we moved in really so that doesn’t change anything. The rest, you leave to me. I am your lawyer, after all.”

“Can my lawyer handle my mom?”

She has a little smile. “Sorry. I’m pretty sure that’s a hat I don’t wear.”

Bucky sighs again. His mom loves Steve. She calls him her second son. She was the one that always asked when Bucky was going to make an honest man out of him. She had cried the whole day of their wedding. She called Steve more than she called him.

He didn’t want his mom to hate Steve. Since Sarah Rogers had passed away when Steve was eighteen, she had been the only family he had known. They had spent every single holiday all together, both Catholic and Jewish holidays. Bucky feels so guilty now to take that away from Steve. But then again, Steve is a lying cheater so really, he has no foot to stand on.

Then, Bucky Barnes, recipient of a master’s degree in computer science and finding out secrets, realizes something. Clint is here. Clint also goes on super-secret missions with Steve and Peggy fucking Carter. So, Clint must know something.

“Is Clint awake?” he says, maybe too suddenly.

“Why?” Natasha asks with an eyebrow up, not trusting him and his stupid instincts.

“Does he know?” Bucky keeps on going, realization flushing through him. “Did you know…Before today? And not tell me?”

“What? James, god, of course not.”

He turns to properly face her, to scan her for lies. It’s not very fair but he’s crawling out of his own skin here. He can’t do this. He can’t take it anymore. He needs something to do with himself.

“Did Clint?”

Natasha exhales and avoids his eyes. Very quietly, she says, “I don’t know.”

He should thank her for her honesty, for trusting him with that guilt but he can’t. Not right now anyway. He jumps out of the bed, half still tangled in the covers. He’s halfway out of the door when Natasha throws sweatpants on his back. He realizes he was wearing just boxers. Fair.

Once he’s decent, he marches into the living room, where Clint is playing with Lucky on the floor, cooing at her like she can understand.

“Did you know?” Bucky demands. He’s being a dick. They’re his friends. He has to know.

“Did I know…What?” Clint says and it’s too slow. Bucky can already feel the tears coming back to him too quickly.

“About fucking Peggy.”

“I am not fucking Peggy, no.” Clint keeps on being dumbfounded. Seriously, who recruited all these idiots for the top jobs of the US government?

“He means Steve, babe,” Natasha supplies from the bedroom. “He means Steve fucking Peggy.”

“Oh,” is all Clint says. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way. That sucks. Hurts like hell. Been there.”

Bucky knows all about Clint’s first wife and he usually cares a bit more. Not today, though. “Just answer the question.”

“It’s…Um. Can’t really.”

“The fucking can’t be classified,” Natasha says in her best lawyer voice. “They work together, it would have to be approved by HR too.”

Bucky points behind himself, towards where Natasha is laying down. “Exactly. No fucking is classified. This is a government agency. It has to be public record somewhere.” The realization dawns on him. “Oh my god. I’m being cheated on and it’s public record.”

Natasha appears by his side and he finally notices he’s crying again. He wipes angrily at his face. She squeezes his hand gently. “It’s a secret government agency, James. It wouldn’t be public.”

That. Does not help. He doesn’t know what to do with that information. “Can anyone just answer me? I’m not a fucking foreign spy. Who am I going to tell?! I feel like I’m going insane.”

Natasha pulls him down to sit on the sofa. In front of them, Clint sits up and the dog lies down in his lap. He pets her head lazily.

“Ok. You’re right. I’m sorry. I know about that mission they were just on. Steve didn’t lie, he did take a month and a half of leave. So now technically my commanding officer is Peggy so that’s going to be fun.”

Natasha glares at him. Bucky sighs. “Yeah. Sorry, the point, I know,” he goes on. “I can’t tell you about the mission, obviously, but I can say that the kissing was probably related, indeed. Does it mean that they couldn’t have enjoyed it? Course not. Handover at your place? Sounds weird to me. That’s all I’ve got.”

“So, they are fucking.”

Clint shrugs. “If they were, I don’t think they would have sent me the memo. What if you just talked to him?”

Bucky has an honest to god full body shiver at the thought. “Fuck no.”

“You’re going to hide away in my guest room until one of you dies?”

“Maybe.”

“James,” Natasha says because she is the worst. She also cares but whatever.

“You know when I found out about Bobbi, I was angry too. I was so mad. I couldn’t even look at her. Married for ten years and she couldn’t come to me first, break it off?” Clint drops his face into the dog’s fur. “I knew we were done for, ages before, but why not just say it, you know? It sucked. It really did. You need that talk. Some closure, anything to understand. It’ll eat you up otherwise.”

Bucky nods, takes a deep breath and sinks further in the sofa. “You said you had food?”

Clint chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve got food. You know, Nat, you give me shit for my dog, but you’ve got your own stray in here.”

Bucky grunts and Natasha brings him closer to her chest, like she would a puppy. She smiles, all teeth and winks. At least, Bucky’s got them. He rubs at his eyes.

“It’ll be alright,” Natasha says softly. “Take as long as you need.”

“Did you block him everywhere?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Might have forgotten Tumblr. Do you still go on there?”

Bucky shrugs, but lying down against her, almost in a foetal position, it doesn’t really convey any meaning. “He definitely doesn’t. Did he call you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you pick up?”

“No. I texted him to say to have his attorney contact me if he needed to talk about the details.”

The details. The divorce. Bucky swallows more sobs that are waiting to come out. Clint drops a plate of microwaved casserole in front of him.

“Thanks, Clint. Nat. I don’t deserve this. I suck, I’m sorry.”

“Buddy, that’s what friends are for. Monday at the office will be weird as hell. At least I’ve got a month and a half to figure out my best Steve avoiding routes.”

Bucky flinches.

“Don’t say the S word,” Natasha says with a smirk.

“He’s not Voldemort,” Bucky grumbles, sitting up to eat his food. “I’m just sorry. And I made a scene in front of fucking Peggy. Bet she’ll be the talk of the office too.”

Clint sits back down on the floor, calling the dog to him. “Doubt it. She’s probably embarrassed as hell. Never took her for the type, you know. I think everyone figured out she had a crush on Steve but it’s Steve, right? Goddamn Captain America and all that. But who knows?”

It doesn’t make Bucky feel better. He shudders into his plate. “I swear if they submit that HR request after the papers are signed, I’ll shoot my brains out.”

“James,” Natasha warns. “Don’t joke about that.”

“The whole goddamn office? Who else wanted to fuck my husband?”

“Honestly, Barnes? Probably the whole of America.”

Bucky groans. Yes, he knows, Steve is a brickhouse with dreamy eyes and he’s gentle too. The whole package. And Bucky is letting him go. He’s basically left him all wrapped up for Peggy fucking Carter to sweep him off his feet. What a goddamn idiot he is.

Natasha pats his knee encouragingly. “He doesn’t deserve you,” she assures him. “Even if it wasn’t for this whole debacle, you never see him. You never do anything together. You’re basically pen pals that have lost each other’s addresses. That’s not a marriage. That’s not even a relationship.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I jumped into whatever fucked up office romance I could find.”

“Exactly. Hence why he doesn’t deserve you, James.”

This works a little better. Bucky picks up his fork.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” Clint assures him. Bucky tries his best to believe him.


	2. D Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes his key, his work bag and sunglasses and heads out on his wobbly legs. He doesn’t have time to catch his breath after barrelling down the five floors of stairs before he notices the silhouette miserably sitting on the outside steps of the brownstone.
> 
> Steve.

Tomorrow does come. It is a new day. Bucky is still sick, still in Natasha’s apartment instead of his own home, still getting a divorce. So, nothing changes really.

He wakes up around 5:30 to throw up. He can’t go back to sleep after that, so he checks his emails and of course, everything has gone to shit in the two days he’s been off and none of his direct reports seems to be able to fix it without him there. He throws on a clean pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and decides to just head in before anyone is in the office. He can possibly manage the bugs before any of the workaholic lawyers come in and no one will have to witness how much of a mess he is.

He takes his key, his work bag and sunglasses and heads out on his wobbly legs. He doesn’t have time to catch his breath after barrelling down the five floors of stairs before he notices the silhouette miserably sitting on the outside steps of the brownstone.

Steve.

Bucky’s heart feels so weak. He doesn’t know what Steve texted him after his little scene, but of course, Can’t-let-one-thing-lay Rogers would be terrible at giving Bucky space. At least he didn’t pound on the door and demand to see him.

Bucky puts his sunglasses on because it might be just before 6 but the sun is high, and he is still very dizzy. He nudges Steve’s gloomy figure with his toe as gently as he can. He’s only wearing converses and they’re as clean as can be.

Steve whips around straight away. He looks like he hasn’t slept for years. He rubs a hand on his face and says so gently, “Bucky.”

“What are you doing here?” Bucky replies instead.

Steve shrugs. “Natasha said you were sick. I got you soup.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He sits down carefully by Steve. He notices the plastic container by Steve’s foot, a step further down. He takes it in his hand, and it is stone cold.

“How long have you been here for?” Bucky says quietly, a little pit of guilt forming in his treacherous stomach.

Steve just looks down at his feet, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. “Will you come home, Buck? Talk about this? I know you’re angry, but we can…We’ve been through worse, right?”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that. He looks at his feet too. His throat closes up and he knows he’s close to tears again. It’s unfair how he can’t keep it together for longer than a couple minutes in the presence of Steve. He would love to seem decided and determined, to look like he has any idea if this is the right decision or not.

“Please?” Steve pushes. He finds Bucky’s hand on the cold floor and squeezes. “Where are you even going, by the way?”

Bucky sighs. “Office. Some cracks in security. I miss one day and the whole boat is sinking, you know?”

“It’s 6AM, Buck.”

“You don’t have to remind me. Were you going to wait here until I came out? What if I didn’t leave the apartment for days?”

Steve has the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Didn’t think that far. I thought Clint would walk the dog sooner or later. I guess it’s luck that the firm is being hacked so early on a Tuesday.”

“Guess it is,” Bucky nods because it’s the only words that can come out of his throat.

“They can spare you for another couple of hours. Come home. Have some soup. Let’s talk.”

Then, he stands up like Bucky already accepted. He even starts to walk down the steps. Bucky stares at the cold soup in his hands.

That’s the thing about being loved by Steve Rogers. He’s all in, always. Nothing is insurmountable, nothing is ever a problem. Whatever Bucky needs from him, he’s willing to give. Setting himself on fire to keep others warm and all that. But that’s not fair on anyone. That’s not what Bucky wants either.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Steve,” Bucky says quietly. “Natasha says we should talk through our lawyers.”

“That’s lawyers’ bullshit and you know that,” he growls. “You want this, fine. But you can’t just walk out and never talk to me again. That’s not how it works. You…I’m not pretending it’s easy, but I’m not letting you go like that.”

Bucky rubs his tired eyes. “Fine. We can talk but I’m not eating this soup. Where did you even find this? Please don’t tell me you made it.”

Steve laughs and it warms something inside Bucky. How long has it been since he’s heard him laugh? Why does it feel like it’s been years?

“I got it at the deli. It’s kosher, too.”

“Oh, babe. Ma would be so proud of you,” he replies fondly, not managing to keep the smile away from his lips. He doesn’t even keep kosher and Steve knows that. It’s still sweet.

Steve walks back toward Bucky. He sets a stray strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. He smiles, bright and full of affection, as his hand falls to Bucky’s jawline, his thumb rubbing at Bucky’s chin. He presses a light kiss on Bucky’s forehead.

“Let’s go home, Buck.”

*****

It’s weird walking the three blocks to their own condo together, like this. It’s not like they usually hold hands or link arms or anything like that, they never have been big on PDAs of any kind, but there’s never been such awkwardness between them. Like they don’t know what to do with each other, what to say, how to act.

Bucky starts to think that this is all they’ll have now, for the rest of their lives. He pushes that thought as deep as he can and focuses on what’s in front of him instead. His apartment. His home. Who is supposed to get that, again? Are they supposed to sell it? Natasha wrote it all down, but he can’t remember already. What an idiot he is.

Focus. He exhales deeply. He tries not to stare at the framed pictures of their wedding, of the day of Bucky’s graduation. His purple heart ceremony. Steve and his captain stripes. Their whole lives spent together, hung to be admired in his hallway. Why did he let it get this bad? Why didn’t try harder, before? Why did he walk away?

If he can’t even think of one good reason, then surely, he’s made a horrible mistake.

He sits down at their dinner table. Everything has been put away. There’s no signs of the divorce papers anywhere. He folds his arms on the table and patiently waits for Steve. He hears him mutter in the kitchen.

“Where do you keep all the bowls?” He grumbles, opening every drawer and cupboard they own. “I swear I saw some in there, last time I came back…”

Oh yeah, Bucky suddenly remembers all too sharply. He lives here on his own. Steve is all but a guest in their home. He can’t even find the tableware. Does he know how the washing machine works? Does he remember what restaurants do takeaway in their area and which ones suck? Bucky knows he doesn’t.

Since they moved in this condo, Bucky has felt that loneliness in a brand-new way. They haven’t built a life together. Bucky has his own, that Steve interrupts sometimes, for short periods, before he goes back to his own. The one that doesn’t have Bucky in it either.

“Top left,” Bucky mumbles. “They’ve always been top left.”

Steve has the decency not to say anything. This is stupid, in a way. Maybe it’s even petty. Bucky could have fought harder. He could have done so much more. He could have begged Steve to reconsider his job. He didn’t because that wasn’t fair. He couldn’t make Steve want him in the way that was most optimal only for him. That’s the saddest thing, really, is that they just don’t fit each other anymore.

Bucky buries his face in his arms. He still feels like hell. Steve microwaves the soup before putting it in front of him. Bucky grunts a thank you and stares at the bowl. He’s not sure if he’ll manage to keep that down.

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve says, a hand in Bucky’s hair, petting it in broad strokes. “Who gets the flu in May?”

“Stomach bug,” Bucky corrects, extracting himself from the cool wood of the table. He takes the spoon in his hand and blows on it first. “Maybe stress. Don’t know. I feel like shit though.”

Steve sits down by his right side. His hand rests on Bucky’s neck, rubbing a comforting thumb there. Bucky leans into the touch. He can indulge, just this once.

“You look it too, sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bucky mutters between mouthfuls of soup. “So, do you, by the way. When’s the last time you slept?”

Steve rubs his free hand on his face and sighs. Then Bucky remembers again that, probably, the last time Steve slept was by Peggy fucking Carter on whatever romantic mission they were on. He takes his eyes off Steve and just stares at the soup. It does taste very good, damn Steve and his thoughtfulness. Where was this a month ago? A year ago?

They sit in silence for a long minute. Steve’s hand migrates from Bucky’s neck to his back, then the back of the chair. Bucky wants to melt into a real embrace, wants Steve to wrap him in his arms, fold him into his lap and never let go. But that’s not how it works.

“Did you…,” Bucky can’t even say it. He swallows thickly and pushes the empty bowl away from him so he can rest his face against the table again. “Um. Did you sign…The papers?”

Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t look at Bucky. “I don’t want to sign them.”

“Did you…read it through?”

“I don’t want a divorce, Bucky.”

That was to be expected. Bucky has nothing to say to that.

“Do you want to break up? Is that it? You just want to leave and there’s nothing I can say to change it?”

Bucky folds down on the table again, shying way from Steve’s touch. “I’m not happy. There’s nothing else I can do.”

Steve takes his hand off Bucky’s chair and it shouldn’t hurt that much. He rubs his face with both his hands now. Bucky looks at him sideways as he gets up and goes shuffling around the living room. He sits back down and hand Bucky a box wrapped in white paper.

“What the fuck is this?” Bucky whispers because he recognises the red stamps holding the white paper together.

Steve sighs. “Happy anniversary.”

“You didn’t…”

“Open it,” he prompts.

“When did you get this?”

“The airport. I told you I wanted to do something…”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts. “I can’t accept this. Not now.”

“This is yours. I got it for you. Last night, I had a reservation in _Aska_. I got them to move it to next week. I fucked up, Buck, I know that. But this? Us?” he has a wide gesture with his arms between the space that separates them. “I know we can make it. We’re not broken.”

Bucky swallows. _Aska_ is one of his favorites. It’s one of these ridiculously expensive tasting menu places by the Brooklyn Bridge. Little dishes in big plates with pieces of wood and smoke all over. It’s very tempting to shrug, accept it all and pretend nothing ever happened.

“I’m not your housewife, Steve, you can’t just bury me in presents and hope I’ll forget about…,” he can’t even say it. All he manages is, “Peggy.”

Steve looks away. “You deserve everything, so much more than I can give you. I know that. I’m so goddamn lucky to have you. Let me do this, for you.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Tell me how I can fix this.”

This is so fucking sad. It breaks Bucky’s heart another time over. “How long, Steve? And don’t lie. There’s no point in lying anymore.”

“I never,” he replies and it’s so deadly serious, Bucky looks up at him intently, “I never cheated on you, Bucky. You have to know this. You have to believe me.”

“Pretty sure kissing does count as cheating. Does fucking count too? Yeah, I’d say. Just tell me. How long?”

Steve grunts before he sits back into his chair, looking down at his feet. “I kissed Peggy for this…thing. We had to make a big scene out of this. It was embarrassing, I didn’t even think about it as kissing Peggy... We had to ride this cab with my face covered in red lipstick. I couldn’t go to HQ looking like that. So, I thought you were at work, I could just get the handover done at home. But there you were.”

It sounds sincere. Bucky wants to believe him. “But there I was.”

“We didn’t…make out. It was just to…get away. We’re getting so close now. We’re almost there. That’s why I could take so much leave. Me and Peggy, we’re colleagues…”

“She likes you,” Bucky interrupts him. “Since Afghanistan. She always had feelings for you. It never occurred to you that, maybe, I’d like to know you’re pretending to be a couple for months on end? She sees you more than me. Do you know what’s that like?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t care about Peggy. How could I care about Peggy when I’m married to _you_? When I get to come home to _you_?”

This is exhausting. They’re just talking in circles.

“Open the box, Bucky,” Steve repeats in his steady commanding officer voice. “Please,” he adds, a little gentler.

Bucky doesn’t particularly want to. It’s too much. For all Bucky loves jewellery and fine dining, he doesn’t want to drag this out longer than it needs to be. They’re both holding to this corpse of relationship, rotting before their eyes, for what? Nostalgia? History?

He holds the smooth paper with two fingers before he carefully starts to unfold it. He knew what was inside, but he still feels a little excited seeing the red box with the gold lining. He looks up to Steve.

“I didn’t get you anything,” he admits, a little ashamed. While Steve was planning a proper celebration, Bucky was hiding divorce papers in his work bag.

But Steve is Steve, so he smiles instead. It’s a little shy and small, but it’s still a smile.

Inside the red box is another smaller red box. Bucky pushes the button open and uncovers a _love_ bracelet, from Cartier. Something that Bucky had mentioned months ago, one of the very rare times they had been walking around Manhattan together.

Bucky had just liked the plain one. This is beautiful, though. It’s white gold, set with blue and purple stones. Bucky recognises the sapphires, amethysts and…aquamarine. His birthstone. Steve is such a fucking sap. Bucky can’t help the wide smile on his face. This is an incredibly touching gift. It’s also probably just below _nine thousand US Dollars_.

“Steve,” Bucky starts.

“I thought it’d match your watch.”

Bucky looks down at his left wrist where his watch isn’t. Couple of years ago, when he got the promotion at the firm, he treated himself to a Patek watch. It was nothing extravagant, a nautilus with a navy-blue dial and a steel strap. It still cost just over thirty grand, which was crazy, but Bucky had learned how to enjoy the life he had managed to build for himself. He could afford these luxuries nowadays. And so could Steve. But it was still too meaningful. Especially now.

“Second year anniversary is supposed to be cotton.”

Steve has a small laugh. “You wanted a shirt instead?”

“I can’t accept this, Steve,” Bucky tries again, even though his fingers are stroking the cool metal. It’s so fucking nice. It would match his watch too.

“Give me this week,” Steve continues. “Let me make it right. If you still want to…divorce after that, then…I can’t force you to stay but you have to give me a chance.”

How easy it could be to agree, to find Steve’s warmth, wrap himself in it and forget about the outside world. But one week and then what? Steve goes back out, with Peggy, with his team, and everything is back to square one. He can’t.

Bucky closes the box and pushes it away from him. He shuts his eyes, a pathetic last attempt at holding the tears in.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t. I just can’t. This is…It’s a beautiful gift, but I can’t…”

Steve exhales deeply. He crosses his arms on his chest. His voice is so quiet. “So that’s it?” he looks at Bucky, his eyes all red-rimmed and tired, “We’re done? Just like that?”

“Guess so,” Bucky manages to say through his closed throat.

“Is it my job? You want me to quit SHIELD?” Steve says, sitting straighter, the clogs in his brain already churning away.

Bucky can’t stand his gaze anymore. “I can’t ask you that. What would you do with yourself? You’d hate it. You love going out to save the world. You deserve to do something that fulfils you like that. I’ve got no right to take that away from you.”

“You’d rather leave?”

“Steve…,” Bucky says with a sigh.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice stronger. “Isn’t that enough? You make me so happy. I don’t give a shit about SHIELD. If that’s what it takes…”

“No, don’t even go there,” Bucky wipes the hair off his sweaty forehead. Great, he’s getting feverish again. “I have to go…The office.” He has a shrug. He stands up weakly. “I’m not doing this just for me, Steve. You deserve…I don’t know. Something else. Neither of us are happy, no matter how much we’d want to.”

Steve shakes his head furiously. “So it’s up to you to decide what I deserve?”

“What’s a week going to change!” Bucky suddenly growls. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Fucking hanging out for crumbs of affection. I’m so sick of it, Steve. I can’t do it anymore. I just…Call Natasha, get your lawyer. Whatever.”

He scrambles for his phone in his pocket. It’s almost seven now and there’s definitely an army of lawyers already at work. Fuck.

“I’ve got to go,” Bucky says.

Steve doesn’t look at him. “Yeah, guess you do.”

Bucky wants to huff at that, just so he won’t start crying again. Steve is chewing on his thumb, staring at the table. He’s pissed off, Bucky knows. He wants to offer him some comfort, but he can’t find it in him. He just wants to be alone now. He leaves the Cartier box and heads out. His heart is in his throat, all torn up and too big. He throws up as soon as he’s out the door. So, that soup was a terrible idea then.

*****

Weeks pass by. It should be weird to have Steve blocked on everything, not to hear from him for weeks but then again, it’s not really unusual. It’s just like Steve is gone on a mission.

What is weird is fearing running into Steve wherever he goes. After all, Steve knows exactly where Bucky is. He also knows where he works, where he goes out for drinks sometimes with Natasha and Yelena. Or maybe he doesn’t because he’s never around.

The whole month goes by and Bucky barely notices. Clint goes over to the apartment to pick up more of his shit and he doesn’t say if Steve was there. He doesn’t say if they’re in contact either. Someone must be talking to Steve but neither Natasha nor Clint says anything.

On June the 5th, Natasha comes in his office, at the hour they’re supposed to go get sushi and drops a stack of papers on his desk that he has no idea about. All he can tell is that it’s written, defendant and plaintiff at the top and it’s his and Steve’s full names on there.

“Steve hired Odinson and Sons. They sent this over,” she says as if that explains anything.

“Sorry. What?” He almost wants to confirm they’re still getting sushi because this doesn’t make any sense.

“You met them that one time, they were the other party in the Pierce divorce. Tall, beefy, blonde guy and skinny guy with black hair.”

“Steve hired two lawyers?”

Natasha clicks her tongue like Bucky is the dumbest son of a bitch she’s ever met. “No. Loki Odinson is his attorney. But you’ve met them. Anyway. They want to sit down. Anytime you’re free?”

Anytime he’s free to throw away his marriage? He hopes never.

“James?” She presses on, like he’s being indecisive on what tie he wants to wear. “You still want sushi?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do. I just…Steve’s not fighting this?”

This is probably what hurts the most. Steve hasn’t not fought something he didn’t agree with in his life. Maybe he had just been fucking Peggy on every surfaces of their apartment. Bucky had told him they were done after all.

“If they want to sit down, maybe he does want more than what I put in…I don’t know,” she says with a little shrug. “Reservation is in twenty minutes.”

“Ok. Yeah. Let’s get sushi. Then let’s get me divorced, I guess. Thursdays, am I right?”

Nothing makes sense, yet everything hurts.

*****

Bucky sets the meeting for the next day. Technically, he would be at work, but Pepper doesn’t mind. She does that face, half crumbled into a smile and a frown and it’s so gentle that Bucky wants to let her hold him for a while. He doesn’t because that’s still his boss.

That night, he can’t sleep. He hasn’t seen Steve in a month. He hasn’t seen Steve in two months, if he doesn’t count the half hour that he had with him on their anniversary, the ten minutes blow up when he told him about the divorce and that conversation with the soup. He hasn’t seen Steve for a whole year if he wants to count seeing him more than a couple of days in a row. Maybe more. His life really does suck.

He wears his usual formal clothes to his divorce meeting. He doesn’t want to look like he dressed up to impress him, but he doesn’t want to look like a slob either. Maybe he does spend more time on his hair that morning, but Natasha wouldn’t tell on him.

They go to the Odinson’s firm because Bucky would like not to be subject of the office’s gossips, thanks. It’s nothing like Potts & Hogan, it’s a lot smaller but all wood and marble, very grand place. It’s worlds away from the clean lines and neutral tones of his office. Bucky wonders what kind of people go to get divorced there. Apparently, him and Steve.

The secretary ushers them in and Natasha has got her game face on. She’s a great lawyer, unreadable and snappy. They haven’t talked about what it feels like to have to divorce her best friends. He hopes it doesn’t bother her. She’s a pro after all.

Steve’s lawyer is there. He’s a tall, skinny guy like Nat says. He’s also got a British accent and for a split second, Bucky pictures Steve and Peggy, naked on the sofa that Bucky picked out with his mom, all blissed out and lazy, Peggy cooing up at Steve; “Oh, darling, I know just the perfect lawyer for your divorce. Then, we’ll be free as the wind. Oh, that’ll be just grand, darling.” He needs to stop making these scenes up in his mind. Peggy isn’t that bad. He sure does hate her anyway.

Bucky and Natasha sit down and Mr. Odinson is on the other side. Steve’s chair is empty. Bucky tries not to look at his watch. Steve is never late to anything. Steve is the kind of person that thinks five minutes early is late. Steve sucks and Bucky can’t wait to be rid of him.

“Is Mr. Rogers joining us?” Natasha enthuses flatly.

“Yes,” Mr. Odinson replies in the exact same tone. “He’s here. He’s just…Oh, there he is.”

The door opens behind them and Bucky has the self-respect not to turn around and beam at him. But, God, he’s missed him so much.

Steve has a beard now. His hair is a little longer too. Bucky takes note of that but keeps his face neutral and uninterested. He’s so fucking hot. Why? How unfair is that? Bucky keeps his eyes on his own two hands in front of him and lets Natasha do the talking.

After a minute, Steve opens his stupid mouth and his voice is low, so deep, it reminds Bucky of so many sweet words he used to say to him. “I love you so damn much,” he said to him the last night they had together. “What changed?” he had said, and Bucky hadn’t replied. He can’t cry. Not now.

“Could we just have a moment, please?” Steve asks and Bucky freezes.

Natasha looks at him with a raised eyebrow, just a little crack in that façade. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve has a little smirk on his face and Bucky wants to lick it off. What the fuck.

“Mrs. Romanova,” Steve says in that clipped tone the lawyers love to use. “I wasn’t asking you.”

Bucky shouldn’t be so turned on. He sighs. “It’s fine. We can have a minute alone. Everything is done, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha says quietly. “If you’re sure. Mr. Odinson? You’ve got a vending machine around here?”

“Of course, right this way,” he says mildly.

They close the door behind them and now it’s just Bucky and Steve. Like it has been for twenty-eight years.

“Hi,” Steve says.

Bucky melts into his chair. “Hi,” he says back, not looking into his eyes. He’s going to cry, he can’t avoid his fate now, but he will delay it with all his might. “How’s it going?” he goes on, dryly.

Steve has a little laugh, like a low chuckle. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“Buck,” Steve starts again after a little pause.

Bucky remembers when they first got together and even after they got back to the States, when Bucky was studying, that Steve used to never use any usual pet names. No sweetheart, no baby, no honey. Bucky had asked him once because he couldn’t control his own mouth around Steve. Anything rolled off his tongue. Steve had said that he felt like ‘Bucky’ was intimate enough. Buck. No one else called Bucky like that. When Bucky introduced himself to new people, he’d say James Barnes. Natasha calls him James. To Steve, he’s Bucky. In a way, it feels good to hear that in his voice again.

“Will you look at me, please? Just give me one minute.”

Bucky obeys. He sits back straighter and looks at him head on. Steve looks a lot worse than the last time they’ve seen each other. There are circles under his eyes and his face is gaunt, like he hasn’t slept or eaten properly in a hundred years. It reminds Bucky of when his mom passed away and he kept saying how he just forgot to eat or couldn’t sleep. Bucky hopes it’s not because of him, that something else, anything else happened and he didn’t break Steve’s heart in that way.

Steve reaches out to take his hand. Bucky lets him. The table is narrow enough to allow them to just hold hands like idiots, opposite sides of each other.

“You want this?” Steve asks softly.

“No take backs, huh?”

Steve shakes his head. He doesn’t let go of his hand. The touch is so comforting and familiar, it hurts right in Bucky’s soul. “Be serious, Buck.”

“Yeah,” he says with a deep exhale. “Yeah, I do. We…We haven’t been who we were when we first fell in love for a long time, Steve. What we have…What we used to have, it’s been gone for a while and we just kept ignoring it, thinking it’ll pop back out. Guess it didn’t work.”

They don’t let go of each other’s hands. It’s a very weird way of having an argument but Bucky can’t even fathom the thought of not holding Steve’s hand right now.

“I was so angry, Buck. I was so mad at you. I felt like you were just running out on me. Why’d you cut me off like that?”

Bucky shrugs. “Must have been tough, right? Not knowing where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m seeing.”

For some dumb reason, this flares up Steve and that’s what makes him let go of Bucky’s hand. “You’re seeing someone?”

Bucky has a deep sigh. “No, Steve. You really think I’d make that much of a scene thinking you’re stepping out on me and then run out the door to do the same?”

Steve nods and tries to take Bucky’s hand again but this time, he doesn’t let him. He has to be the strong one. He’s the one who started this.

“You’ll sign the papers?” Bucky asks, not looking at him anymore.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want, Buck, I’ll do it. Will you just…Can’t we still talk? I miss you. You’re my best friend. What am I supposed to do without you?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky says honestly. “I don’t know what I’m doing either. To be honest, we haven’t been friends for so long. When’s the last time we had dinner together? That we went to see a movie? That we just sat down on the couch and binged some shows?”

“Bucky, that’s not fair…”

“Yeah, well, I guess life ain’t,” Bucky cuts in. “If it was, I’d still be married to you and we’d be happy together until death do us part or whatever it is that they told us.”

Steve buries his face in his crossed arms on the table. “Do you not love me anymore? Why can’t you let me fix this?”

Bucky sinks into the chair again and closes his eyes. Why does it have to be so damn hard? They’re acting like teenagers. His rubs his eyelids.

“It’s not that easy, Steve. If I thought we could fix this, I’d try. We just…outgrew each other. We don’t fit together anymore. We have to let each other go.”

“I only want you,” Steve counters like an idiot, he peeks up from his dumb tree logs of limbs and his eyes are so blue and sad. “If I had known…If you had told me. I swear to god, Buck.”

“Don’t put this on me. You knew how I felt. How could you not? You saw me twice in six months. Was that enough for you?”

“Of course not! What am I supposed to do?”

Bucky avoids his eyes again, twirling a little in his chair. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. That’s why I’m doing this. We have to move on. Maybe we’ll get to a place where we can be friends again, I have no goddamn idea. All I know is that I don’t want to live with you anymore. I don’t want to be married to you. I’m…I’m sorry, Steve, but that’s all I’ve got.”

Steve hooks his chin on top of his arms and closes his eyes, defeated. Bucky thinks that Steve must agree, in some part of his mind, otherwise he’d have never agreed to this meeting. He would have torn up the papers and chased Bucky through the city. They’ve let each other go, years ago. Now, they have to deal with this.

“Do you want to call Natasha back in?” Steve says after a long moment of silence. “I’m ready to sign if you are.”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

He pulls out his phone and lets her know they can come back in. After a minute, Natasha plops Reese’s cups in his lap. Otherwise, Mrs. Romanova is back and she’s all business. Ten minutes is all they need. A judge still has to finalise it but otherwise they’re done. Seventeen years of relationship, twenty-eight years in each other’s lives, all down the drain.

Bucky doesn’t feel any lighter. They don’t shake hands when they’re finished. They say goodbye and it’s fucking weird. It was never supposed to happen. How could they have let this happen? Natasha rubs his back as they leave, letting Steve and his lawyer behind. If she weren’t holding him up like this, he thinks he’d have fallen to his knees and started sobbing in the middle of the sidewalk. It wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing he’s seen all week.

“I did it,” he says once they get back into their own office. Because they still have to finish their day. It was just a quick stop over. How fucking strange. “I really did do it.”

“Yeah, you did. Wait until you see my bill before you throw a party,” she says with a little smile. He knows it’s to cheer him up, but it breaks his heart even more.

“That’s some job you got. Dealing with people as miserable as me. Can’t be fun.”

“There’s better days,” she shrugs. He can believe that much.

*****

Now that they’re technically divorced, Bucky asks Natasha for the cursed Steve messages that she hid a month ago. At first, she’s a little hesitant but they are his to read through, so she agrees. She does wait until Becca arrives for the weekend.

It’s weird, having Becca around, looking at him like he might fall apart any second. She’s a couple weeks away from giving birth. He should be the one worrying about her. A lousy big brother he makes.

They have dinner, all three of them. No one mentions the divorce. If Bucky wanted to, he could have pretended that it was just another day. Becca comes down to New York for weekends often, after all Steve is always away and he does have a guest room in his own apartment. Or he did. They used to have dinners like that all the time when Bucky was still married. It doesn’t feel the same though, it feels a little gloomy.

When night comes, they don’t go back to Bushwick. They stay in Bed-Stuy, Becca unpacks in Clint and Nat’s second spare bedroom/study. Bucky feels a little guilty, making Natasha open her house for his sister but they are all friends. He still feels extremely grateful.

They hug goodnight and Natasha takes his phone and unlocks the messages. It’s like he’s holding pandora’s box itself. It’s so stupid. His hand isn’t steady.

“Thank you,” he tells her, and she shrugs. She probably thinks she owes him that much. Bucky has been there for her through worst times, in a way. He has never thought about it that way, but he won’t embarrass her now.

There are so many missed calls from Steve. From the time he left to late into the night. It stops just before ten, probably the time Natasha blocked the number. Bucky feels almost smug. Something about tasting one’s own medicine. He shouldn’t think like that, he shouldn’t be this cruel but he’s so heartbroken and he’s so much pain all the time, he’ll take what he can get.

There are about twenty texts, in between the calls, that are just something between “Just pick up your damn phone” and “Let me explain”, another twenty that are promises Bucky knows are unkeepable. The last few hurts because Bucky knows how much Steve meant it.

_I’ll do anything. Just answer your phone. 5mins and I’ll leave you alone, I promise._

_Bucky. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen. Let me see you._

_If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you. Answer me. Please._

Then, he understands why Natasha was so solemn when she gave him the phone. Why she waited until he had a good, relaxing night with his best friends and his sister. Natasha knew because these are the last texts and she had to click the thread to block the number.

Stupidly, Bucky unblocks the number. He almost expects a new cascade of messages to appear, but he knows that’s not how it works. He curls into a ball on the bed and disappears under the covers.

He could have done it. He could have tried counselling, therapy, something. But to what end? Steve would never quit his job. Bucky couldn’t ask that of him anyway. Steve loves going out and saving the world. He loves doing good. He’s great at leading too. It wouldn’t have been fair. It would have been selfish. They weren’t what they needed anymore. Doesn’t make it hurt less but doesn’t mean it’s not true.

It’s half past two in the morning. Bucky is still an idiot. He types “Hey.” And locks his phone again throwing it as far as he can away from him but still on the bed. It takes only a couple more minutes for his phone to buzz. Steve has replied the exact same thing. What a pair they make.

What’re you doing, he types then deletes it. What’s up. No that’s stupid too.

 _Can’t sleep._ He finally sends.

 _Me neither_ , comes from Steve after twenty seconds. So why was that so hard to do when they were still married? Bucky banishes these thoughts from his mind.

 _How’s single life treating you?_ He replies because being an asshole is all he knows.

 _Not great. Pretty lonely._ Steve says quickly. _You?_

_Not what it’s cracked up to be if you ask me._

They’re being stupid and Bucky knows that. He can’t help it. He craves Steve’s presence so much that it hurts in every part of his body. He just wants to feel wrapped up in his arms again, breathe him in and feel at home.

 _Wanna come pick up your stuff tomorrow?_ Steve asks after a couple of minutes of silence.

Bucky had completely forgotten but they are supposed to sell the apartment. They had bought it three years ago with Steve’s signing bonus to SHIELD. Back then, it had felt like they were on top of the world. Everything was so perfect. Steve wouldn’t be on the other side of the world with a shitty connection and not home enough during his leaves. Little did Bucky know it would be much worse. He had thought this was the closest Steve would get to retiring his uniform.

Now, Steve is selling their home. They’re upstaging it. Steve is staying god knows where. Bucky only hopes it’s not at Peggy’s. Maybe it is. Steve is a free man now, technically. Although he said he was lonely. Maybe it’s a lie. Doesn’t matter. Bucky still has to pick up his shit to make it look like the apartment hasn’t been lived in.

 _Sure_ , he types quickly. It sounds too eager, so he adds, _Becca is here for the weekend and I’ll take any excuses to not go shopping for nursery furniture_.

Steve sends a couple of laughing emojis in response. They could do this. Be friends. It could work. It feels fine and not as miserable as Bucky expected.

_Text me whenever you want to come by. I’ll be there the whole day then Sam is picking me up._

So, he isn’t staying with Peggy. He’s staying at Sam’s. Sam, their one single friend. Sam, their old buddy from the army, that is also not straight. Sam, the now excellent counsellor at the local VA centre. That’s good. Bucky is glad. Sam is probably harassing Steve about his feelings and someone’s got to. He just hopes it’s all platonic. Even though that’s none of his business anymore.

Then, Bucky realises he hasn’t heard from Sam since he served Steve with the divorce papers. The prophecy was true then, Steve did get Sam in the divorce. Only fair.

 _Yeah, no problem_ , Bucky types, hoping it sounds genuinely casual not like he’s trying to be casual. _See you then._

_Goodnight Buck. See you tomorrow._

It’s been a week since the divorce meeting. The judge hasn’t finalised their divorce, but everything is technically settled. He can see Steve, he tells himself. It’s no big deal. He’s picking his own stuff because he’s a grown man. He doesn’t need Clint to run his errands. And even Clint has said he needed the closure.

The last time he’d set foot in the apartment he shared with Steve. In their home. In their bedroom. It was going to suck ass and in a bad way, he knew it. But he could do it. He could face Steve and not fall apart. He had done it in that lawyer’s office. It’d just the same. It’d be fine.

*****

“I can come,” Becca offers just before he finishes his sentence. “I can still help.” Bucky looks pointedly at her full belly. “I can help morally.”

“I don’t need moral help. I don’t even need physical help. I’m not lifting furniture. It’s my clothes, couple of books. I don’t know, little stuff. Whatever will fit in Clint’s trunk.”

They’re sitting at the breakfast table. Natasha is making them pancakes. Bucky is sipping his coffee while Becca tears apart a piece of toast.

“I just don’t think you should be alone,” she continues.

Bucky sighs. “You think Steve will tackle me into marrying him again? I’ll be fine.”

“It’s just,” she looks down at her crumbs of bread. “Sad. I don’t know. Don’t you want someone there?”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity. At least Steve doesn’t have to deal with that. He bets that Steve didn’t even tell Sam that he was seeing Bucky today. Smart move, really.

“In any case, it’s only three blocks away,” Natasha interjects as she sets the plate of pancakes between them. “If you need backup, we’ll be there in ten minutes flat.”

Bucky has a small laugh. He’s so thankful for Natasha.

*****

Bucky walks up to his condo because he’s not about to knock to get into his own home. He has texted Steve that he was leaving to meet him, so he doesn’t have to buzz in. He still has his keys. This is where he lives. He shouldn’t feel nervous about going into his own home. But yet, here he is. Shaking in his boots about facing his very own husband. Soon to be officially ex-husband. This is all so stupid.

He pushes the door in and recognises almost nothing. The upstaging guy already packed up everything. Instead of framed pictures of their wedding, of the ceremony when Bucky got awarded his purple heart medal, there’s abstract art everywhere. Neutral, probably. On the shelves, there’s only colour coordinated books and little knickknacks he doesn’t own. This is like a catalogue home. There are boxes everywhere, a single scribble on top, either Bucky or Mine. So, Steve has done all the work of splitting their stuff already. All Bucky has to do is load it up and leave.

He doesn’t call out for Steve. He starts to lift one Bucky box, trying to gage the weight, if he can carry it to the elevator easily or not. It’s not that heavy. He lifts another to add on top to save him some travel. Too heavy. Turns to another one.

“Oh, you’re here,” he hears Steve from behind him.

Bucky gets up from his crouch and swipes his hair out of his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Hi. I did text but I still have my key so. I hope you don’t mind.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, “I told you to come get your stuff. Of course, I don’t mind.”

“No, I mean. I didn’t knock or anything. Could have been…You know.”

Steve smirks. “You have seen me naked, Bucky. Just because…,” he doesn’t finish his sentence, scratches his skull as he turns around to look around unopened and unlabelled boxes. “It’s still your home too.”

Bucky nods even though Steve can’t see him, his back to him, and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to say that he could have had someone here, because he doesn’t want to go through the whole argument again. Steve can do whatever he wants now, and he must know it too.

They move the boxes in silence. Steve closes them with thick tape. The noise fills the room. Bucky doesn’t really ask how his system worked, how Steve decided what stuff was his or not. Who’s getting the wedding pictures? Hopefully, no one. He just grunts or shrugs when Steve points at something. His pile becomes quite a bit larger than Steve’s. Another cold reminder that Bucky basically lived here alone for three years.

“I’m going to have to come back here with Clint,” Bucky comments once they’re done. “I can take all my clothes now and then…I can’t even fit all that in their apartment. I’ll think of something.”

Steve looks at him with those sad, desperate eyes and it takes Bucky all of his strength not to run up and hug him. Embrace him as tightly as possible, wrapping himself onto him.

“You’re going to stay with them a while?”

“Yeah, guess so. For now, anyway.”

Steve nods, his jaw tight like he wants to ask so much more but won’t let himself. Knows Bucky won’t give him answers and doesn’t want to push it. It’s really the weirdest thing to know a person so deeply and intimately and having to separate from them. Like losing a limb.

“How are you, Buck?”

“Getting by,” he admits in an odd moment of honesty. “You?”

Steve nods, as in to say he feels the same. Or feels nothing at all. Bucky can’t look at him or he’ll probably burst into tears and roll on the floor helplessly. Steve’s phone buzzes. He picks it up and mumbles some greeting. There’s a pause then, “I’ll be down in a minute. There’s not much left,” Another pause, a sigh then, “Sure. Bye.”

“That Sam?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “He’s already here.”

Bucky doesn’t prod at the ‘already’. They’ve been packing things for hours by now. They said maybe ten words to each other. What else is there for them to do? It’s not like they could hope to unpack the past three years of resentment they’re probably carrying for each other. Bucky knows Steve isn’t the only one to blame for the failure of their marriage. He just doesn’t have to strength to hear it. He walked away, mostly because he didn’t think there was a way that they could recover. Whatever they had got broken along the way.

Bucky pushes his boxes into the wall, so there’s a neat line of space for Steve to walk to the door and drop his own in the elevator. Steve sets them by the door, one by one. Bucky simply watches, in silence, a little overwhelmed by the sight of Steve’s strong shoulders and arms working. By just seeing Steve for this long after another absence. He should have gotten used to it by now, but his luck is so bad that he probably will never.

Bucky stands in the doorway, on the frame, resting both his hands there, leaning in. Steve stops right in front of him, watching him, almost shy. They’ve never been shy with each other. They never had to hide anything from each other. The situation is so unnatural, so deeply disturbing that it hurts in a brand-new way. This is who they are now. They will never go back.

“Will you lock up behind me?” Steve asks but doesn’t move

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, just as still.

For a long second, they just stare at each other. There’s a certain desperation in this moment. Now is the last time they’ll stand together in the home they made for each other. In the home they let to fall off its foundation. It’s sad and it’s pathetic and Bucky has no idea where to go from there, so he chooses what he knows.

He reaches out a hand for him and Steve takes it. They’re still standing across the frame of the door, Bucky holding Steve’s left hand in his right. It’s comforting and devastating at the same time, just like in the lawyer’s office.

“This is a great condo,” Bucky comments after a while when they’ve stopped detailing the other’s face like they’re on the brink of death. “Great location. Amazing views.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “I bet. Never had the time to enjoy it. It’s a shame in a way.”

“You could have kept it,” Bucky says, too honest again.

“Would have felt too weird,” Steve replies with a shrug, like it’s obvious.

“How’s it like living with Sam? He complained about your snoring yet?”

Steve has a small laugh, dry and sad. “No, luckily. I guess that’s what college must have been like. There’s worst things.”

Bucky doesn’t ask what worst things. He knows. He knows it a lot more than Steve. He knows what a cold, empty apartment feels like after three weeks without a word from the person you share it with. He knows what it’s like to find the fridge perpetually empty and have no one else to blame. Running fingers through sheets that are too cold, in a bed that’s too big.

He swallows thickly and sets his eyes on Steve again. He details the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, the cut of his jaw. He’s so tragically beautiful. With his free hand, Bucky traces the lines of his face. His brow, his cheekbone, his ear. He spends a second caressing the beard. It’s rough and thick and Bucky has never seen that on Steve before.

“Lost your razors in one of the boxes?” he tries to make it sound like a joke, but he realises what tone he uses. He’s a second from falling apart.

Steve brings Bucky’s wrist to his mouth and presses his lips against it. Not so much kissing it as checking the pulse. It’s so gentle and careful, as if Bucky would break into pieces if he didn’t pay enough attention. It’s stupid. Bucky shouldn’t want to lean his whole body into the touch.

Luckily, Bucky has no stupid words like, I miss you. Like, I love you so much it hurts. Like, I take it back, please fix me. Fix us. Do whatever you can. Let’s go to Timbuktu, I don’t give a shit. He catches his mouth.

Instead, he says. “Sam must be waiting.”

Steve nods but doesn’t move. They’re still holding hands. Steve still has Bucky’s other hand in his. They can’t just part like this, can they? After seventeen years together, it’s not like they can shake on it and never talk about it ever again. Bucky lets go of Steve’s left hand and for half a second, Steve looks horrified like he can’t believe he lost the touch. Then Bucky closes the distance between them, which felt as wide as the red sea but was just a small step. He sets both his hands by Steve’s face, cupping his jaw and kisses him.

At first, he thinks Steve will push him away, not return the affection, fight him on it. But he doesn’t, he melts in Bucky’s arms, easy as ever. Steve was always so easy to distract, to lead into this well-rehearsed dance. He would object sometimes, pretending he was busy, but as soon as Bucky got his mouth on him, he knew it was over. Some things never change.

Steve opens his mouth and lets Bucky in. This is stupid. They shouldn’t make out on their own doorstep as they’re going through a divorce, but something ignites in Bucky’s chest and he can’t let go. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. Bucky wants to kiss Steve’s neck, his chest, his stupid jutting and thick collarbones. He loves him so much. How will he ever get over this man? He only has ever kissed Steve.

They break apart and Bucky wishes it were him that had that strength. Steve holds him at bay, both his steady hands on Bucky’s hips. Bucky presses his forehead against Steve’s. He catches his breath like that, with his arms wrapped around Steve’s neck. He really doesn’t want to think about how he’s letting that go for the rest of his life.

“Sam is in the car, Buck. I gotta go.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “I know. Just…Give me one more minute.”

It’s stupid. It’s so goddamn stupid. He closes his eyes tightly. Steve doesn’t move either.

“I’ll be there, whenever you’re ready. When we can be friends again. I really want that, Bucky.”

Bucky nods against Steve’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. I just need…I just need time. But I do, Steve. I want to see you.”

Steve has always been the bravest out of them both so he’s the one to press one last chaste kiss on Bucky’s lips. He’s the one who unentangles them and leaves Bucky behind. He was always halfway there anyway. Bucky was only the one to give him that little push that he needed.

When Steve has finally disappeared into the elevator with his stupid boxes, Bucky slams the door shut. Not even one last look for him, not one wave of the hand. That’s it. They’ve done it. They broke up and now Bucky only has unresolved anger to comfort himself with. He’s such an idiot. He probably wrapped Steve in a bow and dropped him right in Peggy’s lap. He’s so full of rage, he’s shaking with it.

He sits down on the floor because that’s the only thing that’s still familiar in this place. He reaches for his phone and blocks Steve’s number again. Maybe that’s cruel, maybe that’s unfair but he doesn’t give a shit anymore. He can’t do this. He made a mistake.

He scrolls through his contact list, hesitates a second then presses Mom. It only takes two rings for her to pick up.

“Darling, hi,” she greets, her voice high and bright. Bucky doesn’t call her enough. “What deity has blessed me today that you’re calling me yourself?”

“Ma,” Bucky starts then gets choked up on his own tongue. “Ma,” he says, breathless and he knows he’s crying. So does Winnifred Barnes, probably.

“Jaime? What’s wrong, baby? Did anything happen?” The concern in her voice kills him. It’s been a month that he broke up with Steve and he hasn’t said a word to her.

“Ma,” he says as he can’t hold his sobs in anymore. “We’re done, Ma. We…He’s…I don’t…”

“What? Jaime, I don’t understand what you’re saying, sweetheart. What’s going on? Is it Steve, is Steve alright?”

Bucky is full on ugly crying on the phone to his mother, sitting on the cold hardwood floor of his empty condo. It really doesn’t get worse than that.

“I didn’t tell you, ma and I’m so sorry. I should have. I know…I just…Steve, he…Promise me you won’t hate him, ma? He loves you. He loves you so much. And you love him too.”

“James?” she says then pauses. “Take a deep breath for me, baby, ok? Just breathe, I’m right here. Do you want me to come to Brooklyn?”

“God, no,” Bucky manages to mutter. “Please, ma. Please, promise.”

“Ok, ok, Jaime. You got it. Whatever it is, I won’t hate Steve. So, what did he do this time?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. For a second, he doesn’t think he’ll have it in him then he blurts out, “I got a divorce, ma.”

There’s a very long and very sharp pause. “You did what, now?”

“We’re not together anymore. We broke up. Nat was my lawyer. Steve hired some guy she recommended. We filed it to the court. Just takes a while for a judge to approve it…but I did it. I served him and we got a divorce.”

“Oh, James, I’m coming over right now.”

Bucky groans. It’s slightly better than crying. “Ma, no, I’m staying over at Nat’s. It’s ok. I’m fine. It’s been a month…”

“It’s been a month?” she cuts. “You didn’t tell your mother?! Steve didn’t tell me?”

“I…It was so bad, ma. I wanted to tell you. I swear to god. I didn’t want you to hate him…Ma, you promised.”

“I don’t hate him. Oh, sweetheart. Did you think I’d hate him just because you broke up? I’ve known Steve Rogers since he was two feet tall! He’s basically my son too. I’d never hate him.” There’s a sound like she’s rummaging through drawers.

“Ma? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to call him too…Oh, poor Steve. Did you break his heart, Jaime?”

Bucky rubs at his eyes. “He kissed…This girl, ma. It’s so stupid.”

“He…What? No…Oh, no. Steve? No!”

“Ma, you promised.”

“Who! Who could compare with you! My darling, my baby…I am so sorry. I can’t believe him. He’s away half the year and you don’t step out on him, but he finds the time?!”

“Ma,” Bucky sighs. “Ma. Listen. It was for a mission.”

“The cheating,” Winnifred bellows with all her might, “was state-funded?!”

If he weren’t feeling so miserable, he’d have burst into laughter. “No, ma. Just listen. Remember Peggy? From the party, last 4th of July?”

“Oh no,” Winnifred mutters. “I knew she was a no-good hussy. That accent. Bet it’s fake. She’s not worth half of you, baby, I can tell you that much. Steve will regret this till the day he dies. I know that too.”

“They’re not together, ma. She’s his…I don’t know. She’s one of his agents. It’s not like that…I just…I couldn’t do it anymore, you know? It wasn’t a way to live. I broke up with him because I wanted. Something else, maybe? I don’t have any fucking idea. It’s a mess.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come over?”

“No, it’s fine. Becca’s here.”

“Becca’s also in Natasha’s apartment?”

“They’ve got the space, ma. I…We’re selling the condo in Bushwick. I’m staying with them for now.”

Winnifred hums her displeasure. “You can always come instead, you know that?”

“Just because I work with lawyers, doesn’t mean I can take a week off when I’m getting divorced. I still have to go in.”

“At least, you’re not alone. You need to call your mother more often, James. Have you told the rest of your sisters? You know you don’t have just Rebecca. She’s not even the closest one to you.”

Bucky sighs. He’s not particularly close with his other two younger sisters. Alice lives in Chicago, doing her residency in ophthalmology surgery, which bores Bucky to death in all honesty. Elisabeth is studying at NYU to be a teacher of some kind, something Bucky also should pay more attention to but can’t bring himself to.

Technically, Beth is only a couple of stops away from him, but she is also twelve years younger than him and, having shipped out when he was eighteen, he had never formed a real relationship with her.

“I know. I will. I’ll call them too.”

“You don’t stay alone, you hear me, Jaime? You surround yourself with people who love you and you don’t get too caught up in your own head, ok? I know how you get.”

“Thank you, ma.”

“I could just come now and stay in Connecticut until the baby is born,” she suggests like she isn’t already loading up flight tickets.

“No, please don’t. I have a job. I’ve got a life. I’m fine. Not right now but I will be.”

“I know that too. I love you, sweetie. You’re my favourite son.”

Bucky chuckles, a little wetly but still does. “Thanks, ma. Means a lot. I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.”

“Alright, be well, darling.”

She hangs up and Bucky feels so empty. He couldn’t even face his own mother. He did this to himself and couldn’t admit it to his own mother. He stays sitting on the floor for a while. He stares at the empty walls. Everything feels like a stupid metaphor for this. He feels like an idiot. He could have had Steve. He just let him go.

That’s not all true. He has felt happier. Not every day, not even a full day, but some days, sometime, he has felt like he could breathe a little easier. Like he didn’t weigh two tons because of all the worry he would carry. Maybe it’s because he knows that Steve isn’t on some assignment at the other end of the world, maybe he’s starting to move on.

He should be proud of himself. This wasn’t easy. This was the right decision. If even Steve ‘I might be fifteen, a hundred pounds and not even five-foot-tall but I’ll swing at grown men running their mouths nonetheless’ Rogers had thought this wasn’t worth the fight, it is definitely right.

He just had to forgive himself. This would take a while.


	3. Peace Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “James, hi,” she says in her most comforting mom voice. “Winnie told me about your husband, I’m so sorry.”  
> So here it starts. “Uh, yeah, thanks. He’s not dead. Just not my husband anymore.”  
> “Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, I was one of Becca’s bridesmaid,” Natasha supplies instead, because she’s a normal human being and offers her hand. “Natasha Romanoff.”  
> “Oh, yes, of course, Bucky’s lawyer.”  
> Bucky wants to die. “Also, mine and Becca’s friend.”  
> Natasha’s smile dims a little.  
> “I’m sorry. I know. I just…Steve was,” she giggles a little, while fanning herself with a big smile. When Bucky doesn’t react, because he does remember very well how hot Steve is, she goes on and says instead with a pout, “such a good man. I would have never expected anything like that to happen to you, James.”

It’s another week and a half before Becca is giving birth. Bucky should be more excited than he is. His little sister has a baby. He’s an uncle now. He feels it, he feels the pride and amazement in his chest, but somehow, it’s mixed with too much dread. All his family will be there for the weekend and he knows that there will be at least someone asking innocently, “So, Steve’s away again, right?” and Bucky will have to shake his head, shrug, act like this is no big deal and say, “No, we broke up.”

Does he have to say, “We divorced,” for improved accuracy? Do people care about things like that?

“You can stop sulking, we’re almost there,” Natasha warns.

Bucky groans loudly. Natasha has a little laugh. He is being very dramatic, and he knows that. This weekend isn’t about him. He can survive through a couple of questions from nosy relatives. This is fine. He’s fine.

Natasha parks on the side of the road by Becca’s house. The driveway is full, so that means all Bucky’s sisters are here already. Probably Becca’s husband’s family too. Natasha hands him the baby shower package that he only just bought.

“Do you think my mom has already told everyone about the divorce?”

Natasha tries her hardest not to smile. “I’d be very surprised if the neighbors don’t also know.”

Bucky sighs. His mom just cares, he knows, but he just wants to forget. He just wants to pretend, just for the weekend. Focus on his sister and her brand-new human she made herself. That should be more newsworthy than his failed marriage.

They knock and it’s Becca’s mother-in-law that opens the door. Bucky hasn’t seen her since the wedding, five or so years ago. She does recognize him because she makes a little sad noise and covers her mouth.

“James, hi,” she says in her most comforting mom voice. “Winnie told me about your husband, I’m so sorry.”

So here it starts. “Uh, yeah, thanks. He’s not dead. Just not my husband anymore.”

“Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, I was one of Becca’s bridesmaid,” Natasha supplies instead, because she’s a normal human being and offers her hand. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Oh, yes, of course, Bucky’s lawyer.”

Bucky wants to die. “Also, mine and Becca’s friend.”

Natasha’s smile dims a little.

“I’m sorry. I know. I just…Steve was,” she giggles a little, while fanning herself with a big smile. When Bucky doesn’t react, because he does remember very well how hot Steve is, she goes on and says instead with a pout, “such a good man. I would have never expected anything like that to happen to you, James.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he shrugs. “Can we come in?”

“My manners!” She huffs, finally and opens the door for them, disappearing into the hallway.

Bucky turns to Natasha. “I owe you like, a thousand extremely niche themed parties’ attendance.”

“Oh, boy,” she grins. “I have so many already stored on Pinterest. And now, you live with me, so you’ll have to help with the decorating.”

It’s only fair so Bucky reluctantly nods.

*****

As expected, the baby is adorable. His name is Scott Georges Proctor, he’s only three days old but Bucky is in love.

“I think he looks like me,” he comments after Becca settles him in his arms. “He’s got the same eyes as me. He’s going to be a real looker. I can tell you that right now.”

Becca rolls her eyes next to him. “Babies’ eyes color change all the time.”

“It’s the shape. Are you complaining that your son will be as good looking as his uncle?”

“As long as I never hear the word guncle coming out of your mouth.”

Natasha, opposite them, snorts. “When do I get a turn?”

Bucky holds the baby tighter, “Never, if you’re asking me.”

Right now, it’s just them, Becca’s husband Mark, and his family. Bucky’s mom and his two other sisters are currently running errands, so this really feels like the calm before the storm. Bucky tries his best to focus as much attention on Becca and her amazing accomplishment of a son while he still can.

“You guys are staying until the Bris?” Mark asks as he sits down next to Natasha.

“No, we’ll come back. It’s not like we’re that far. Clint will be back then too,” Nat replies.

“Yeah, Bucky Barnes, it’s not like you’re that far. You could visit more, especially now that you can babysit your nephew.”

“Gosh, no one told me mom already came back,” Bucky deadpans. “I’m sure Scott will much rather to visit New York City instead. The Brooklyn Bridge,” he coos at the baby. “Yeah? That’s what you care about, right?”

Becca swats his elbow. He can’t stop smiling. The baby doesn’t seem to register all this attention, his eyes just fixating on whatever is closest. It’s really fascinating. He’s so tiny and fragile. A brand-new life, right there, in Bucky’s war-soiled arms. He never thought he’d be so lucky.

There’s a familiar sound of chatter, poking around a keyhole and then a very loud conversation coming into the hallway. Bucky braces himself. Natasha makes grabby hands at the baby excitedly. He gently maneuvers him into her lap, like Becca showed him and then walks into the hallway.

He hasn’t seen his mother or his other sisters in a while. Just the fact that he calls them ‘his other sisters’ should say enough. They’ve all changed, very slightly, in a way he can’t exactly pinpoint immediately. His mother is still small and slight, her hair a mess of brown curls cut very short, but she looks more tired. More aged, but he doesn’t want to think about that.

“Jaime!” She exclaims. “You got here and didn’t tell me!”

“Literally, twenty minutes ago, ma. Didn’t want you to rush over.”

She wraps him into her arms so tightly, he can barely breathe. Given that he has a good hundred pounds on her, that is proof that he doesn’t see her enough.

“My baby,” she cries against his chest. “How are you! You’re so pale. Have you been going outside at all? Are you killing yourself at work?”

“Ma, I’m fine. I always look like that.”

“And that hair…,” she whines a little, reaching out. “What am I going to do with you, Jaime, darling.”

“Oh yeah, Jaime, baby, what shall we do with you?” Alice sniggers in an English accent. Dick.

Winnifred lets go of him and throws an angry look Alice’s way. Bucky holds his arms for her to fall into. She looks just like Becca, except her hair is bigger and longer, her shoulders frail and her waist too slim. She is the one that’s killing herself at work, but she gets away with it because of the doctor card.

“How are you?” he asks her because he hasn’t seen her since last Christmas.

She shrugs. “Busy. Usual. Heard you got divorced. Must suck.” Then, she’s off. Bucky does like Alice a lot, he should call her more, his mom is right.

Elisabeth is more difficult. She’s still so young. She looks it too, dressed in those romper things that Bucky has seen on everyone in Brooklyn. She’s wearing a bucket hat. He can’t remember if Elisabeth has an Instagram or something, but she looks the part of those influencer kids. She doesn’t go into his arms willingly.

“You’re divorced!” she exclaims like she just found out.

“Oh, no, what,” Bucky says with a sigh. “And Steve hasn’t said anything to me.”

“You think you’re hilarious when you’ve blocked him everywhere. You haven’t talked to him in months.”

This gives Bucky pause. “How do you know that?”

“I call _him_ , and _he_ picks up,” she mutters.

“Liz, baby, these are not your troubles,” Winnifred cuts in. “Give your brother a hug, he needs it.”

“I do not,” Bucky groans. “And what do you mean you call Steve?”

“What, is it forbidden? Are we supposed to all pretend like he doesn’t exist because you broke up?”

Bucky can’t believe this. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You see him too?”

“Yeah,” Elisabeth soldiers on, like she has reasons to. “I went over to Sam’s for dinner last week. Sam made me ribs. It was great. Not that they could have invited you.”

“Darling, Bucky and Steve still love you very much and you know that,” Winnifred says gently. “Just be nice. Rebecca must be so tired. It’s one afternoon.” She leaves them in the hallway and moves to the living room.

Bucky and Elisabeth just stare at each other stubbornly. “Yeah, Liz, we really want you to know this wasn’t about you and you can see daddy every other week, alright? This doesn’t change anything, and we’d hate you to worry about grown-ups’ things.”

“Fuck you, Bucky!” Elisabeth groans loudly. “You think you’re so much better than Steve. You think you know everything!”

“Oh, because you know better?” Bucky replies in the same tone, which is probably too close to yelling. “Steve told you everything like some kind of fucked-up teenage confidante? Did he braid your hair too? Did he tell you what it was like to fuck Peggy Carter, huh?”

In front of him, Elisabeth is seething. Behind him, is the living room, where everyone is sitting down with a new-born baby. Bucky really holds on to the hope that the conversation there is loud enough to have covered this.

“You are such an asshole. Steve should have been the one to file for divorce,” Elisabeth spits out. “You broke his heart, you know that?”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. He takes out a long breath before speaking again, steadying his voice. “You stay out of my life, Elisabeth, I mean it.”

“You can’t decide if I want to see Steve or not. I’m going to his birthday party too. You could tell him to uninvite me but that would mean you’d have to be mature about it and call him, which you can’t, because you’re a dick!” Elisabeth yells.

“You want to cause a scene? Huh? Fine. But don’t involve me. You do whatever the fuck you want with Steve, I don’t give a shit.”

He turns around, his vision blurred with anger. What the fuck is Steve doing with Elisabeth anyway? Bucky knew Elisabeth looked up to him like he hung the sun and the stars daily, but he had no idea Steve actually talked to her. Hung out with her. Had dinner with her.

He had forgotten all about the upcoming 4th of July too. It wasn’t like anyone ever mentioned that it was a birthday party for Steve, but they did always have a gathering of some kind on that day. This year would be the very first that Bucky would spend without Steve. Not the first without Steve physically there because there had been plenty of those over the years, especially for all the years they had spent separated in Afghanistan. But the first while they were divorced.

He goes out into Becca’s backyard and aches for cigarettes. He hasn’t smoked in years. He sits down on the porch and blows out all the air in his lungs. He counts down to ten. His hands are still shaking. He’s so fucking angry. This day was supposed to be about the baby.

He hears the backdoor open and close and relaxes when he realizes it’s Natasha and no one related to him.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“Where’s the baby?”

“Inside, with Alice. You’re not half as cute but I figured you needed some holding of your own,” she smirks. “Come here, Barnes.”

Bucky goes. He buries his head in the crook of her neck. “Does it ever stop sucking? Does it get any better?”

She strokes his back. “It does. Just have to wait it out. You’ll get there.”

“I ruined today. Fucking Elisabeth. I mean, she’s young, I know, but…what’s the point, right?”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Everyone is fine. There’s a baby in a room, I’m pretty sure everyone forgot about you as soon as they started holding him. Becca and Mark are too tired to give a shit. Elisabeth will get over herself.”

Bucky swallows thickly and nods. “Just thought it’d be easier, somehow. I still think I’m going to wake up and feel like I made the right decision. I never do. I feel like an idiot.”

Natasha finds his cheek and pulls his face out from her neck. “Listen to me. You are not an idiot for having regrets, but if you keep thinking up what ifs, you’re never going to get over it. You need to move on. It’s going to be hard, but you can only go forward, ok?”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I know. Thank you, Nat. You shouldn’t have to hold my hand all day long. I’m a grown man.”

“But your hands are so soft,” she says with a giggle, rubbing at the back of them.

Bucky cracks a smile. “If you would listen about those weird hand sheet masks.”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, thanks. Want to go back inside?”

It will suck but it won’t get any better if he waits it out more, so he agrees. Also, he deserves to hold the baby some more. He’s not about to waste more time not holding his nephew just for the sake of being petty.

*****

Bucky’s mom and Alice stay until the baby’s bris, which happens a week later. This time, Clint joins them in Connecticut, there’s even more relatives and everyone asks Bucky about Steve. He doesn’t want to blame his mom, because she means well, but it is awkward as hell and it makes Bucky miss him even more.

This ache for Steve, for his smile, for his loving eyes, his stupid puns, it doesn’t get much better. It gets worse, really, as they get closer and closer to the forsaken Independence Day. Of all days, to be born on.

Natasha doesn’t say anything. She lets Bucky wallow in misery in his room. Some nights, when he’s watching yet another cheesy romantic comedy where the leads somehow managed to fix their relationship with one grand gesture at the end, she sits by his side and comments on the terrible plot with him. She lets him cry when they kiss at the end. She never pushes, she never makes fun of him for it. She just listens. It does help to believe he made the right choice, no matter how miserable it made him.

Clint goes on a longer assignment a couple of days before the 4th of July. Bucky thinks Natasha was invited to Sam and Steve’s little get together, because if fucking Elisabeth is going, there’s no way either of them forgot to send a text to Natasha. But like literally anything pertaining to Steve, if Bucky doesn’t ask, Natasha says nothing.

The 4th happens to be a Saturday. It’s hot and humid in New York and Bucky hates his life. He rolls around his bed, his phone in his hand, trying to find the coolest parts of his bedsheets. Natasha does have the AC on full blast, but he still feels sticky as hell.

Natasha comes in the open door, resting her small frame on the wall. Her hair is up in a ponytail. She’s wearing wide mom jean shorts and an American flag tank top tucked in, sucking on a popsicle. She pulls it out of her mouth noisily.

“Ready?” she asks like he has any idea of what they’re supposed to be doing.

“What?” he rolls around some more to properly look at her. “Are you wearing the trashiest outfit you could manage?”

She shrugs. “I’m getting into American culture.”

“You moved here when you were eight.”

“Are you going to talk or are you going to move?”

“Where are we going anyway?” he grumbles but gets to his feet anyway.

“Outside. To see the fireworks. With friends.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Do you need to be this cryptic at all times?”

She smirks but leaves him without further explanation. He knows she’s not about to drag him to a party where Steve will be, but he also would much rather stay in bed and watch the fireworks on livestream rather leave the apartment.

He pulls on tight jean shorts and a loose black t-shirt, grabs a pair of sunglasses and his watch before he follows Natasha into the living room. She’s now sprawled out on the couch, finishing her popsicle.

“Who are these friends?” Bucky asks but it sounds more like a demand. He pulls on his black converses. “And how far are they?”

Natasha glares at him a little. “Work friends. Yelena, Wanda, Pietro. Whatever friends they have. You’ll have to put your moping on hold for a couple of hours, can you manage that?”

Doesn’t sound too terrible. Maybe Bucky can put his moping on hold, indeed. He runs a hand through his hair and decides to tie it up too. Natasha watches him fussing with the band with a little smile. He’s so far from even thinking about dating again but he recognizes that look in her eyes.

“Do not,” he warns, “try and set me up. Nat, I swear to god.”

She gets to her feet and looks up at him with an even bigger smile. “I didn’t say anything. You look good though.” She pinches his butt. “How did you even get in these? They’re skin-tight. I don’t even wear stuff like that.”

“Yeah, you wear the jockiest clothes. You love this weird thing, I think it’s called ‘comfort’? Never heard of that before.”

Natasha barks out a laugh. Bucky smiles too. Maybe it is a good idea to leave the apartment.

*****

Bucky and Natasha get to Fort Greene Park in the bus, which is a terrible idea, because it’s hot as balls and obviously packed. Good thing about Yelena’s place is the backyard, so Bucky only mildly complains the whole way there.

They’re having a real party. Bucky can’t believe it’s the first time he’s hearing of this. He has been completely out of the office gossips lately. He definitely needs to get his head out of his ass. He’s divorced, not dead.

Yelena is wearing a matching trashy outfit to Natasha’s. They greet each other in Russian, body slamming and Bucky rolls his eyes. Yelena wraps him in a tight hug.

“James! I’m so glad you came!” she declares happily. She already sounds pretty tipsy. It’s only 3 in the afternoon. Bucky needs to catch up. “How are you?”

Bucky shrugs. Yelena knows all about the divorce. He hopes she just doesn’t mean that. He says, “Fine. Sweaty. I’ll be a lot better once I start drinking, I can tell.”

“Oh, yes,” Natasha says. She looks at Yelena with the widest grin. “Freedom Jell-O shots!” They both exclaim at the same time.

Bucky feels free enough to pass on the shots but follows mutely. Maybe he can start with a beer or something.

He lets Natasha and Yelena enjoy as many shots as their merry Russian hearts desire. Bucky finds a beer in the cooler, greets whomever he knows as shortly as he can, escapes any divorce comment and finds himself sitting down on Yelena’s creaky swing at the end of the yard.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but he does keep to himself for the better part of the day. He drinks beer after beer. The buzz feels dull and boring. He just wants to get back into his bed. His real bed, the one in his condo, in Bushwick. With Steve. He bites his mental tongue. No, he doesn’t want that anymore. He wants to be alone. Moping helps. It doesn’t matter what Natasha has to say about it.

He sits on the swing at the end of the garden, nursing a lukewarm beer. He watches Natasha and Yelena argue loudly about the settings on the barbecue. They seem to come to an agreement and they get started on the meat. Bucky looks at the blue sky.

He tries his best to focus on the cool breeze and the clear day, to relax. He sees a hand wrap around the swing’s pole. Bucky looks at the man it belongs to. It’s Pietro. He’s smiling a little, his hair looks stylishly rumpled if that’s a thing that people do. He’s wearing round sunglasses and an oversized, white logo T-shirt with wide shorts. He’s got high socks and sneakers on. Bucky rarely sees him this casual. He looks very trendy, like those influencer kids. Pietro would probably get along with Elizabeth.

“Hey, Pietro!” Bucky greets after he hopes is an appropriate time to respond. He also hopes Pietro didn’t notice him staring. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Pietro nods and points to the empty seat by Bucky’s side. “You looked lonely. Mind if I sit here?”

Bucky swallows. He’s always thought of Pietro as an attractive guy and who wouldn’t? But, now, he feels nervous for stupid reasons. He hasn’t had one thought about attractive men in months. How is that even possible? It’s like he managed to turn his brain off.

“Free country,” Bucky says with a smile. “Get it? Because it’s Independence Day.”

To Bucky’s disbelief, Pietro grins at him like this isn’t the stupidest dad joke ever made. He sits down next to Bucky and clinks his beer to his.

“God bless America,” Pietro concurs.

“How are things at the…,” Bucky pauses awkwardly when he realizes he doesn’t remember what it is that Pietro does. He knows it’s got something to do with fashion or PR.

“Salon?” Pietro helps.

That’s it. Pietro is a hairdresser, for fashion shows and rich housewives. That’s why his hair always looks great and he pulls off the weird but strangely attractive look of trendy menswear.

“Yeah. Sorry. Is it fashion week yet, you’ve been busy?”

Pietro shakes his head, still smiling. “You have no idea about what I do, do you?”

“I know you do hair for fancy magazine spreads. You do shows too, right?”

“Yeah. I do a bit of everything,” he replies calmly and the way his accent catches a bit on the r sends shivers down Bucky’s back. Pietro is gorgeous and close and so tempting. “I own my salon too, so these days I’m less hands on but I keep busy.”

“Good. That’s good. How’s Crystal, by the way? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Pietro winces and shakes his head. “Oh no, we were never really like that. We weren’t good together either. It’s better that way. You know, being friends,” he takes a sip of his beer. “Should I not talk about break-ups? How are you doing?”

Bucky exhales deeply. “Oh, you know. Fine. Pretending I’ve always been single and avoiding talking about divorce at all cost.”

“I like single Bucky,” Pietro laughs.

Bucky has a small smile. “Have to say that I don’t get that a lot.”

“No?” Pietro’s smirk is so appealing, Bucky doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“People treat me like I’m mourning. Steve isn’t dead. There’s so much pity.” He shrugs. “We just broke up. I can’t stand those tidbits of wisdom, you know? ‘It gets better’ or whatever. I know that. Everyone breaks up at one point, I don’t need it to be a big deal.”

He pauses. He’s oversharing with someone he barely knows. He swallows. “Sorry. I’m rambling. What do you think of single Bucky now that you also know I’m a moron?” he tries to sound light but probably fails terribly.

“I think,” Pietro says, still smiling before he takes another sip of his beer, cupping his lips at the mouth of the bottle indecently, “that you need friends that are less boring.”

“Oh, yeah? Any suggestions?”

Is this flirting? Is Bucky flirting with someone? Is Pietro flirting back? What’s happening right now? Bucky looks down at his shoes.

“I’m sure I could show you a good time if you’re game,” he says flatly, like this isn’t the most obvious come on in the history of fucking.

“Huh,” Bucky manages. Goddamn it.

“Pietro!” Wanda exclaims, all the way by the barbecue, before shouting something that sounds very demanding in their native language. It resembles Russian but Bucky knows they’re not from there. Pietro yells something back and Bucky is a little turned on by the way his voice sounds a lot deeper in that language.

Pietro gets up, finishes his beer by tipping it up and Bucky can’t take his eyes off his bobbing Adam’s apple. He feels too hot. It’s been a while. He looks away again.

“Duty calls,” Pietro explains with a half shrug. “You’ve got my number, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Yeah.” Bucky might never be able to get laid ever again in his life.

“You know where to find me, Bucky Barnes,” Pietro replies with a wink.

Bucky blushes. He needs to put a hold on himself. He watches Pietro walk away. He doesn’t even hear Natasha sit down next to him until she blows air directly into his ear.

“Quit it,” he groans.

“You know where to find me,” she mimics in a deep voice. “Ooh, Bucky Barnes. Are you going on a date?”

“Shut up,” he continues lowly.

Natasha is clearly drunk, but she does shut up. She puts her feet in Bucky’s lap and smiles brightly at him. He points at her with an angry index.

“No!” he warns. “No. None of this. I’m not hearing any of this.”

“He likes you,” she singsongs.

“Stop.”

“Bucky Barnes,” she says in that deep voice again.

“No,” he repeats, stubbornly draining down his beer. “I’m not even officially divorced. I’m not going to…do anything until it’s at least finalized. So. None of that, thanks.”

“Bucky,” she says pointedly, “Barnes,” she wiggles her eyebrows. “That was hot.”

It really was. “Yeah, right, if I was fifteen years old,” he says instead.

Natasha snorts, settling into the swing’s cushions. She looks very close to falling asleep. The sky is now dark, and the fireworks are going to start any minute. Bucky watches her nod off, excitingly waiting for the noise to make sprint up in confusion.

*****

It only takes another couple of days for Natasha to walk into Bucky’s office and dump a divorce decree on his desk like some junk mail that no one could care about.

“When did you get this?” he mutters angrily.

“Just now. Congratulations, you are a single man. Officially,” she says with a quirked eyebrow.

“No,” he points to her. “Definitely not.”

“Bucky Barnes!” she exclaims.

“I have work to do, you know.”

She hums, still trying to hide a wide grin. He sighs. “Since when is Pietro even into guys?”

“Birth, I’d say,” she continues with that stupid face. Bucky throws a pen into her general direction. She catches it in her hands and smirks. “He’s bisexual. I thought you knew that.”

What is it with Bucky and hunky, tall, beautiful bisexual men with kind eyes and devastating smiles? That’s definitely something to do with him. That must be an issue of some kind.

“Well, anyway, I’m not asking Pietro out. That would be…You’re the lawyer here. Isn’t it bad to date your co-worker twin brother? Surely, there must be rules against it. Ethically.”

Natasha pretends to ponder and taps her chin. “Let’s see. Some astonishingly handsome man is into you, which, although a weird situation, is really happening, and you already think about how to announce it to HR. Ethically, I’d say you’re thinking too much and you need to get laid.”

Bucky groans. “I’m not discussing my sex life during work hours. We live together now. It can wait for a couple hours at least.”

“You’re considering it,” she says victoriously.

“No,” he says with an exhale. “Can I get back to work, please? Thanks for divorcing me or whatever. Feels great. So grateful. See you when I’m finished making sure this firm doesn’t sink because of failures to protect confidential files.”

Natasha puts both her hands on his desk and leans in. “You’re grumpy when you’re not getting any.”

“This has to be some sort of harassment. My workplace definitely feels hostile,” he grumbles.

She laughs as she leaves him to his laptop and that infuriating piece of paper in front of him. He’s officially single. So is Steve. He almost wants to unblock him to text him about it. Never in his life has Bucky not been able to talk to Steve about important life events. This is his life now. Him and Steve are completely separated entities. No more Steve and Bucky, Bucky and Steve.

Divorce. What a big word. What a stupid word. His grip on his mouse tightens. He’s not about to lose it at work. He wanted this. He knew this was coming. He swallows thickly. His throat feels too small. He chokes on his own breath. He coughs and can’t stop. He touches his chest. Under his fingertips, his heart races. He divorced Steve. Now, he’ll never see him again.

Stupidly, Bucky wonders if Steve’s lawyer is as quick as Natasha is and if Steve got the news too, that he’s officially single. Bucky wonders if Steve is on a mission, the same kind that made him kiss Peggy, and they’re together, huddled in close, reading the email. Bucky wonders if they look at the words, then back up at each other, then slowly lean into each other. He thinks about whether Steve had a little crush on Peggy too, in Afghanistan, when they first met. If Steve would act on it now. He should, he is free to do so, now. Nothing holding him back. Bucky’s heart is hemorrhaged.

*****

Days pass by. They become weeks then months. Bucky barely blinks and it’s fall, it’s October and he has no idea where the summer went. He thinks he’s getting old but that’s definitely not the truth.

He feels crippled by his pain. He has nothing without Steve Rogers. For all these years they were together, he’s defined himself by his relationship with Steve. His best friend, his boyfriend, his husband. Bucky has no idea of who he is without him. It takes him a long while to realize maybe that’s why their relationship failed so abruptly.

Bucky envies Natasha. Now that he’s basically become her roommate, he can see that she lives a full life without Clint. She is her own person, with a great career, friends she loves and an impressive list of weird hobbies she makes Bucky try too. A fully fleshed out person that can exist on her own. Something Bucky has never thought about being.

It’s not all sunshine and roses, of course. Natasha has those nights where she’s curled up on the balcony, smoking cigarette after cigarette, clutching her phone tightly in her hands, waiting for a word. These times, Bucky always thinks of Steve, where he is, who he is with, what he is doing. He misses him like the air in his lungs. It takes a lot of strength some nights, when Clint is back and Bucky knows Steve is in New York again, not to run back to him, to beg him to take Bucky back, to forgive him and let him be whole again. But that’s part of the problem too. That’s not something Steve can give him.

Natasha tells him when the condo is sold. He could buy some other place, something smaller, something further away but he can’t bring himself to, not yet anyway. He’s never lived on his own before and he’s taking a liking to being Natasha’s roommate. They’re used to spending a lot of time together anyway.

The only things that change are things they never used to talk about. The ugly crying, the loneliness. Things they would have never showed each other before. Now, Bucky sees Natasha in her full picture and her with him. There’s nothing left to hide. Bucky loves that. It’s like living in perfect symbiosis. The love and respect he feels for Natasha is ever-expanding, limitless, its depth always surprising him more.

They’re the same and they’re not either. It’s like an updated version of themselves. Bucky is trying to pull at his own seams, to uncover everything that he’s never looked at and he presents it to Natasha for assessment. This, you’ll improve, she tells him. This is easily fixed. This, you can let go. He hopes he doesn’t burden her. She never says anything about it. She happily complies. She smiles, pets his head, offers her arms, and patiently listens. For every step back, she gives encouragement. For every step forward, she celebrates with him.

There’s nothing he wouldn’t give to her these days. There’s no corner of her soul that is foreign to him either. He knows about her frustrations, her loneliness, her dreams, and her nightmares. There is nothing that they cannot face together.

Although, there is things that Bucky has to do by himself. Grief does come in waves. Sometimes, weeks go by before he’s hit with a memory of Steve, of something they used to do that was just theirs. They spent their whole lives side by side. No one would ever have that knowledge of Bucky. No one else. Every summer holidays spent together, every school year, even though they were never in the same class, every family dinner, every event. Bucky’s father’s death. Steve’s mother’s death. Memories, feelings, understandings. Brooklyn in the summer, the war at its peak, coming home and not being able to find anything that makes sense anymore.

Worst of it is the physical aspect of it, of course. Bucky had never been intimate with anyone else. Maybe he had kissed one or two girls during stupid high school parties and spin the bottle games or just another guy when he was still figuring himself out, but he can’t remember for the life of him. Now, going out, dating, having sex with someone that isn’t Steve seemed horribly daunting. It feels like cheating, in a weird, twisted way.

Natasha pushed at first. Downloaded Grindr on his phone, setting him up on dates that he couldn’t even fathom the thought of going on. Then, she realized, that he wasn’t ready yet. That he couldn’t just go out there and forget himself into someone else’s touch. She had let it go but Bucky knew she’d bring it back up as soon as she would think he could handle it.

This sort of weird momentum, where everything seems so slow and so fast at the same time lasted until a rainy day in the second week of October. It’s late and Bucky is watching a sappy romcom on his laptop, picturing himself as the guy who runs after the girl in the airport just to catch her and convince her that they can work it out. He imagines Steve turning around, his eyes focusing on Bucky through the crowd, not believing that this is actually happening.

Natasha closes the laptop down swiftly and plops down next to him on the bed. She’s sitting down while he’s laying down on his back, both his hands under his head.

“Hey!” he groans. “I was watching that.” He sits up a bit and opens the laptop again. “You’d like it actually, if you’d give it a chance.”

She stares right at him. Bucky can tell she’s nervous because she’s scanning his face intently, trying to make sense of his mood. That’s something she does a lot, assessing him like he’s a fragile piece of glass that requires the lightest of touches.

“I have to tell you something. You’ll hear it about at some point anyway so I’d rather it came from me,” she declares solemnly.

“Christ, Nat, somebody died or something?” he tries to keep his voice light, but this is making him just as nervous.

“Steve is dating,” she takes a pause, crosses her arms, settles further down the bed, her back touching Bucky’s thigh. “Actually dating. He’s got, uh, a girlfriend.”

Bucky swallows. Steve’s done it, then. He moved on. Bucky hasn’t seen him since that day in the condo. He hasn’t talked to him since then either. It’s only been four months. This sounds insane to him. How could he have forgotten all these years they had spent together in just four meagre months?

“Ok,” he says carefully. He knows that if he just lashes out at Natasha, he won’t get more information. “Do I know her?”

She nods. “This is going to be hard, alright, I know that, but you’re the strong one around here. You’ll get through this.”

Bucky inhales sharply. He rubs his temples. He feels his body sink further down into the mattress. Of course. He knew this would have happened.

“They made it official and you think I’m going to blow my brains out now?” he says with a sigh. He can’t really breathe properly. He tries again, emptying his lungs, taking as much air in as he can.

Natasha presses a hand on his stomach. “Of course not. I’m here. Everyone is here for you.”

“I don’t need anyone’s pity,” he grits out.

“Just breathe,” she puts more weight on him. “Look at me, breathe.”

Bucky obeys reluctantly. He inhales and exhales, staring at Natasha’s stupidly worried face. He wishes he could just carve out this pain and dump it some place, somewhere that would never reach him again and be done with it. Bury away all the memories he’s got with Steve, forget about him and be happy he found someone. It’s really unfair that life is more complicated than that.

Once he got his own breathing under control, he looks up at the ceiling and settles in the pillows until he’s completely flat on his back. Natasha doesn’t move. He puts his own hand over hers and squeezes.

“Thank you for telling me. I appreciate your concern but I really need to be alone right now.”

He hears her get up and feels her press a kiss on his forehead. Then, she’s gone. That’s one of her qualities he loves the most, she doesn’t pry. She’s noisy as hell but she’ll give him as much privacy as he needs whenever he asks.

He turns the lights off and rolls around in the bed. Fucking Steve. Fucking lying Steve. Of course, he’d run and make it official with Peggy. Fucking loyal Steve. Bucky knows that even if Steve wasn’t sure of his feelings, of his grief and pain, he’d want to do right by Peggy and protect her and announce their relationship to the world like a goddam prize pig.

Bucky feels so enraged. How dare he? Isn’t it like discarding all the years they had together? How can Peggy even live with herself knowing she was there, waiting, the day Bucky served Steve? Did she go home and celebrate Steve’s soon-to-be freedom? Did she plot for months how to make Steve hers?

He’s so goddamn angry. He wants to know everything about what happened. He almost wants to call up Peggy and demand she explains herself. But he doesn’t. He settles on the next best thing. 

He knows that fancy spies can’t keep up their social media. He knows he won’t find anything to satisfy his morbid curiosity on either of their profiles. But he knows someone who does.

He types in his sister’s name. Elisabeth Barnes. And there it is. Pictures and pictures of Steve’s party that she threatened to go to. There’s a couple of selfies of her and Steve, Elisabeth beaming at the camera, Steve looking a little confused and awkward. He never did like having his picture taken. The beard is still there. Bucky doesn’t know what to do with this information. Somehow, it makes him even more furious. So, on top of divorcing Bucky, he’s got the audacity of becoming even _hotter_?! The gall!

Then, he finds pictures where Peggy is looking up at Steve from where she’s sitting down. She doesn’t seem to have noticed the camera. She’s looking at him with kind, warm eyes and a little hint of a smile. Pining. Bucky remembers how much he hated seeing that look on her. It was no one’s fault that she was in love with Steve but, some days, that was all Bucky could think about. His rival. She really did get him in the end. Bucky let him go and Peggy was there to catch him.

He’s being so unfair and he knows. But there’s nothing fair about heartbreak. He aches for Steve in ways he didn’t think were possible. He still wakes up and reaches for him. It’s been four months, it’s been six, it’s been years. It doesn’t matter. His heart was built around his love for Steve and now he feels incomplete. Obsolete. 

Bucky hopes that this isn’t serious. That it won’t last. He hopes Peggy gets her heart broken just like he did. He hopes that Steve never gives her what he wasn’t capable of giving Bucky. His fingers clench around his phone. He can’t find anything else but those couple of pictures. He feels feverish, almost nauseous, like his whole body is going down a real, physical spiral. He throws his phone away from him and jumps out of the bed.

He picks up his running shoes, not bothering to change his sweatpants and is out the door in a minute. He doesn’t have to tell Natasha, she’ll guess. He needs something to focus on, something else, anything at all. Running until he can’t feel his lungs in Brooklyn October weather is his best bet for now.

*****

“We’re going out,” Natasha announces a couple of days later. “You’re going to wash your damn hair, have drinks, dance a little. Fun, remember that?”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Do you mind using that in a sentence?”

She points a finger at him. “Try me and I’m inviting Pietro.”

Bucky blushes and hides his face furiously.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Now, chop chop. We’re hanging out with Maria.”

“Hill?! Steve’s boss?” He cries out. “What the hell?”

“She’s our friend too. You’ve been avoiding everyone, burrowing in my guest room for months. People ask me if you died all the time.”

Bucky scoffs. “Who do you see that doesn’t also work with me? Don’t pretend you’re homecoming queen with me, Romanoff.”

“Maria, for one. Are you arguing? You’re miserable. You need a kick up the ass. Here’s a foot,” she lifts her leg up and circles her ankle. “You’re coming. Get presentable, please.”

“Alright, fine. But just drinks. I’m not going to a nightclub. I’m old.”

“Getting older by the minute. Go already!”

Bucky sighs but obeys. He knows Natasha is right but he doesn’t want to talk about it. The last week has hit harder than he had expected. He’s been getting good at dealing with the pain without it swallowing him whole. He barely stays the whole night under the covers crying anymore. Now, he can keep to a schedule of under ten minutes crying while he’s looking at old pictures of him and Steve. That’s still progress.

The thing he’s been dreading the most is dating. He can’t even think about it. Of course, he misses having sex, but that barely registers. He should try, download one of these apps he missed out on in his youth, like Natasha tried to have him do. He can’t. He needs more time. It’s not even November yet. Maybe once it’s been half a year he’ll consider it.

Tonight doesn’t have to be about dating, though. He can have fun. He can see people outside of work. No one died, it’s only a divorce. He’s said this to people countless times, he should start to believe it now.

He finds a pair of tight jeans and a loose grey T-shirt. He wraps himself in a long duster coat and shoves on a pair of black boots. When he comes out of his room, Natasha is wearing blue jeans and a tight red top with high heels. She smirks at him.

“Was that so hard?”

“Yeah, well, you look nice too. When is Clint back? Maybe then I’ll finally get some peace.”

She looks at her phone anxiously. He hasn’t noticed that she was clutching it so tightly. She pushes it back into her clutch with a blank face.

“Last time I heard, it was next week. I know he’ll be fine...It’s been a while since I got an update, that’s all.”

Bucky swallows. He knows too well what that means. He squeezes her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort.

“He’s the best shot I know. He’ll be back next week.”

She nods. “Don’t get it twisted either, this is not about Clint. You need to go out more.”

“I know,” he says with a smile, “far from me to believe you have feelings for your husband like any other mortal beings.”

“Damn right,” she mutters.

They're off to some swanky, hipster place in Brooklyn that Bucky used to love, back when he had just found Brooklyn again. After Afghanistan, this had looked like paradise. Now, they all look and feel the same and the beer is always overpriced and too complicated. He doesn’t say anything and follows Natasha down the room after she orders for them both.

Bucky recognizes Maria in the crowd easily. She’s wearing a black corset top and a leather jacket, with straight black jeans. She gets to her feet and waves to them. Her hair is loose on her shoulders and she’s smiling wide.

“Nat! Bucky!”

He hasn’t heard someone call him that in a while. It is stupid, but this is the name Steve gave to him. Natasha calls him James and Clint calls him Barnes. He doesn’t mind either but hearing someone say it again feels oddly comforting.

He approaches Maria and awkwardly hugs her. She’s still grinning at him, clearly drunk already. Natasha pushes on Maria's shoulder to watch her fall back into her seat easily.

Natasha quirks an eyebrow. “Got the party started early?”

“You could say that,” she giggles a little. “It’s good to see you guys!”

Bucky nods, taking his seat. Natasha hands him his drink and he takes a big gulp. He hasn’t been out in a bar since he broke up with Steve. This feels unnerving.

“I haven’t seen you guys in so long,” Maria goes on cheerfully. “How’s the firm?”

“Secured,” Bucky says mildly.

“People are still divorcing each other, so pretty good,” Natasha adds.

Maria nods. “You’d both make great spies. I should hire you next. Can’t trust many of my captains, these days.”

Bucky feels a pang of jealousy rise up in his chest. Maria gets to see Steve. She probably saw him more than Bucky did during their whole marriage. He can’t think about that. That’s a rabbit hole if he’s ever seen one.

He takes another big sip of his drink and prays to the gods of alcohol that this will help with his shakiness and his awkward demeanor. He feels two hands dig into his shoulders and whips around in horror.

He just hears Sam’s laugh.

“If this isn’t the infamous Bucky Barnes!” Sam says in between laugh hiccups. So, that’s who Maria was drinking with.

“Eat shit, Wilson,” Bucky grumbles before he gets to his feet and wrap Sam in a real hug. He hasn’t seen him for months.

“Sam,” Natasha says warmly before holding up to his neck and embracing him tightly. “It’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming too.”

“Yeah, somehow, I got an inkling that someone wouldn’t have made the journey if she told you.”

Bucky huffs. “I’m right here.”

“It’s not because I live with your ex that you can’t talk to me, shithead. You’ve got my number, right or you lost that one too?”

Natasha swats Sam’s ribs with a little smile. Bucky sits back down. “That’s below the belt,” he announces to the table. “No mention of divorce tonight please.”

Sam sits by Maria’s side with a big grin on his face. It was stupid of Bucky to assume that they couldn’t hang out just because he was always Steve’s best friend. Bucky probably spent a lot more time with Sam than Steve ever could.

The conversation flows easily, maybe it’s because Sam and Maria were already pretty drunk when Bucky and Natasha got there, maybe it’s because Bucky forgot what it was like to hang out with good friends in a bar. He feels a bit ridiculous being so nervous after all.

Sam is the first to leave, because he works weekends and is boring as hell. It leaves Bucky, Natasha and Maria, hunched over their tables in conspiration, very drunk and without the one person in their group that usually swerves them in the right direction.

“Alright, Bucky, don’t freak out,” Maria starts with a mischievous grin around her fourth strawberry mojito. “But the guy at the bar has been checking you out for, like, hours.”

Bucky wants to turn around like an idiot. “How would you even know? Maybe he’s checking out Nat.”

Natasha splutters around her own gin and tonic. “No, no,” she waves around like Bucky reacted a lot more aggressively. “Every time you went to the bar, he looked you up and down, like he was, like he was, you know, what’s the word?”

“Definitely cruising you,” Maria goes on.

“Nobody says cruising anymore,” Bucky mumbles. “And so what? Are you surprised I’m hot? I’m hot as hell. I’m thirty-four years old, I’m divorced, I only have had sex with one person in my whole life but I’m still hot as hell.”

This sends both Natasha and Maria into a terrible laughing fit. Bucky sniggers a bit too, but only because he’s just as drunk as them.

“Dare you to go over there and go home with him,” Maria says once she gets a hold of her giggles. “He’s hot too! Why not?”

“James wants his second first time to be special,” Natasha replies instead, falling into another fit of snorting. “He even deleted Grindr off his phone when I tried to have him make a profile.”

“No way!” Maria only laughs harder. “Definitely go over. If he’s a murderer, we’ll be right there, right, Nat?”

“Yeah, James, you’ve been dared! Are you going to do it or not?”

Bucky could argue that he’s not fourteen anymore, that he doesn’t have to follow up on stupid dares. He could, but he also knows that they’re right. He’s making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be. After all, Steve is fucking Peggy, probably even right this second. The thought makes Bucky shiver with hatred. If Steve is fucking Peggy of all people, Bucky definitely deserves to fuck some stranger at a bar.

He drains the rest of his drink and gets up. He can do this. Movies always make one-night stands look so fun. He’s watched enough romcoms by now to know how it goes. He used to be suave, right? He can flirt. This is only about sex. He knows sex.

Natasha and Maria cheer him on. He finds the guy easily. The bar is getting less and less crowded at this hour and there’s only one guy looking at him as he makes his way. Once Bucky gets in front of him, he realizes he has no idea what to do now. Anxiousness grips at his throat.

“Uh, hi,” he blurts out.

The guy seems agreeable enough. He’s got a nice smile. Black hair, pale skin and brown eyes. He’ll do, Bucky thinks.

“Hey,” the guy replies. His voice is deep. Bucky swallows. “You left your friends. Should I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having is fine.”

Bucky just hopes he doesn’t drink whisky straight or anything cool like that. Bucky isn’t embarrassed to say he’d take any sweet cocktail over hard liquors.

“Two long islands, please,” the guy goes on.

Flirting with some random guy at a bar isn’t as hard as Bucky believed it was. The guy is friendly enough and probably noticed how nervous Bucky was and took pity on him. Once they’re finished with their drinks, the guy asks him if he wants to go home, Bucky nods and they leave together, avoiding stubbornly Natasha and Maria’s table.

The ride back is awkward, the climbing up the guy’s stairs is worse. Bucky feels too drunk and too sober at the same time. When the guy closes his door and asks if he wants another drink, he nods silently. He doesn’t want to seem stupid and admit that he’s never done this before, nor that he doesn’t how to have sex with anyone else than Steve Rogers but he also feels like saying it would make things much easier.

“Let me guess,” the guy eventually says. “First time with a guy?”

Bucky almost wants to laugh at this because he literally has never seen a woman naked and never wants to.

“No, uh, bit more complicated than that. I am very, very gay.”

The guy takes pity on him and has a little laugh. “Ok. Long story?”

“Very short. Only been with one guy since I was seventeen. So, sorry if this feels weird.”

The guy nods and slowly, slowly makes his way towards him. Bucky tries his best to relax, to breathe. This isn’t cheating because he divorced Steve. This isn’t cheating because Steve has a girlfriend. He can do this. He deserves to feel good for once in his life.

Turns out, sex with other people than Steve is still sex. Bucky knows how to suck dick, how to take it. The only real difference is having sex with someone that doesn’t know his body, that doesn’t find all the right spots and takes his time, looks at Bucky with love and tenderness in his eyes. Sex with a stranger is just that. Sex with someone that wants to get off more than they want to get you off. It’s easy enough to enjoy it for what it is. Doesn’t make it less awkward, doesn’t make it any better.

Bucky gets out of his own stupid mind for a good hour and then he’s right back in. He’s staring at the ceiling of some random guy that he never bothered to ask the name of. He’s suddenly very aware of how sweaty the guy is. He just wants to crawl into his bed and resume being miserable. It just feels like it would be a thousand times more comfortable.

“I, uh,” Bucky starts eloquently once he caught his breath back.

“It’s ok, you can leave if you want,” the guy says calmly. He doesn’t even seem upset about it. “Want to pretend to take my number and never call me back?”

Bucky barks out a laugh. “Is that what people do?”

“Welcome to New York gay scene, pal. You’re lucky to have found a guy to stick around for as long as you did.”

A wave of heartbreak, back in. Bucky exhales deeply then gets up to find his clothes. He doesn’t take the guy’s number, he doesn’t kiss him goodbye, he just finds the door and leaves. He’s done it. Bucky Barnes has had sex with someone whose name isn’t Steve Rogers. Or maybe it was, he didn’t even ask. But he does hope that the coincidence would be just impossible.

He heads home and finds the shower, trying to smell as much as like him as possible. Once he gets back into bed, after he checked that Natasha was soundly asleep in her own room, he clicks back into Instagram and his sister’s account. There’s no new pictures of Steve and Peggy. He almost hoped there was something, anything at all, for him to look at them and think to himself, see I’ve done it too. I’m free now. I’ve moved on too. He almost unblocks Steve just to tell him but thinks better of it, as always.

*****

The next few weeks go by a lot quicker. Halloween comes around and Bucky accepts to go out with Natasha and Clint. They go a stupid costume party where they all dress up as vampires. Bucky goes home with another random guy. It does get easier as it goes on. He starts to find a rhythm with random hookups.

One time, Clint comes home for two weeks and Bucky downloads Grindr back. He goes out three times in a week and feels so much better about himself. He _is_ still hot. He _is_ desirable. Whatever abandonment issues he’s got leftover from Steve leave his mind when he’s the one that does the deciding of whether or not he wants to spend the night. Now, he feels in control. He stops checking whatever his sister uploads, just in case there’s something of Steve on there. He even _calls_ her to check on _her_. All in all, it feels like moving forward.

It’s a couple weeks into November that find Bucky walking with Natasha into midtown after work. Natasha is holding her high heels in her hand, sneakers on her feet, bracing the coming snow. Bucky is clutching his leather bag on the top of his head.

“Let’s just walk, James,” Bucky mutters in a high-pitched voice. “It’s not like it would suddenly snow, James.”

“You are a child,” Natasha chastises.

“Yeah, well, you’re Russian, of course you don’t mind the snow.”

Natasha scoffs angrily by his side. They walk slightly faster as the snow starts to get heavier. Bucky wants to complain some more when he notices silver hair engulfed in a thick parka and recognizes Pietro Maximoff.

“Bucky Barnes!” Natasha says immediately. She stops in her tracks and turns to look at him. “You have to now! Come on. You’ve popped your cherry all over again. You definitely can.”

“Oh my god, Nat, shut up,” Bucky grumbles, “he’s a friend. Give it a rest.”

Of course, Natasha would never listen to him. She waves Pietro as she continues walking toward him. Bucky notices he’s taking pictures of the store front. The store in front of him that is not a store at all but a hair salon. Is that Pietro’s hair salon? Bucky joins them, looking at his feet.

“Pietro, hey!” Natasha calls cheerfully. “How are you! We were just headed back home. I forgot your place was here now. Looks neat.”

Pietro blushes a little. “Oh, thanks. Hey, Nat, Bucky. We’ve just opened. I was trying to get some pictures for my Instagram. You caught me being embarrassing, I guess.”

Bucky looks at him fondly. The cold made his cheek glow a little pinker and his eyes are so blue in all that white. He is still a very attractive man.

“Are you still open? Would you give us a tour?” Natasha continues. “You should book me in for next week, I haven’t been in months.”

Bucky had no idea that Pietro was Natasha’s hairdresser. He probably never has asked. He’s glad she never mentioned it before. She loves to push and prod, but she might have forgotten about Pietro and the 4th of July party.

“Sure, come in. You always book Teddy, right? He might be around, hang on.”

Pietro pushes the door in and lets them in. It is much better being hot inside than in the cold, muddy snow, but Bucky can feel Natasha’s piercing eyes on the back of his skull, and he hates it.

“Quit it,” he grunts.

“What am I doing?” She asks, like she has no idea.

“I swear to god, Nat,” he whispers back.

The salon is very spacious, very white with high ceilings. It looks like a fashion spread sort of place. Bucky is almost surprised that Pietro owns a place this swanky. Pietro seems very at ease. There aren’t many customers left in the salon, but he moves through the space gracefully, checking for a couple of seconds each station before heading to the back.

“I’ll be right back, make yourself at home,” he says gently. “You guys want anything to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Bucky calls. He doesn’t want to stay longer than he needs to.

“Tea’s fine, as black as you have,” Natasha answers instead.

Pietro nods knowingly. “I’ve got jam too.”

Natasha all but purrs. Bucky hates this. He sits down in a salon chair by a huge mirror anyway because that’s the only places he can sit down at, realistically, as he’s in a hairdresser salon. But then, he sees the twinkle in Natasha’s eyes and instantly regrets it.

“Don’t you dare,” Bucky tries.

“Hey, Pietro,” Natasha says anyway when Pietro brings over the tea and a bottle of water. “You know who is in dire need of a haircut? Are you busy right now?”

Pietro chuckles. “Want to do a Bucky gets his groove back sort of thing? I always wanted to cut the hair of recent divorcees.”

Bucky crosses his arms on his chest stubbornly. “I’m not indulging either of you. I haven’t cut my hair in…Years, probably. I don’t keep count.”

“Definitely needs it,” Natasha says, ignoring him.

“And,” Pietro says, a little singsong, “you’ve never seen me work. You know some reviewers have called me an artist.”

“Some people wait for months for Pietro,” Natasha says with an enthusiastic nod. “You can’t turn down this sort of luck.”

Bucky blows a long breath. “Fine,” he grits out.

Natasha and Pietro look at each other with big grins on their stupid faces and Bucky lets himself hate them a little. Natasha goes over the side of Bucky and swivels him so he’s facing the mirror. She takes her tea in one hand, after dropping a big spoon of jam into it for some godforsaken reason and buries her other one in his hair.

“You know what you should do? Your college haircut. That was a great haircut. You’d look at least fifty percent less like the miserable, bitter, old man that yells at kids from his yard.”

Pietro has a bright laugh and Bucky groans. He hides his face in his hands. Natasha giggles as she fishes her phone out of her work bag.

“I’m not lying,” she assures. “He looked hot with short hair.”

Pietro locks eyes with Bucky in the mirror. “Yeah,” he says with that same gentle voice he uses all the time. Bucky wonders if he sounds like that during sex too. “I’ll bet.” Yeah, Bucky bets on it too.

Natasha finally seems to find what she wanted and exclaims a victorious, “Ah-Ha!” before handing the phone over to Pietro. He nods, passing to Bucky too.

Bucky remembers this picture. It’s him and Natasha, in front of Columbia, doing what they probably believed were gang signs. Bucky is in jean shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt with black sunglasses on his face and a pout he used to do for every single picture in his twenties. His hair is short on the sides but longer on the top of his head, curling a little. Natasha also has long wavy hair and a short summer dress on. This was around second year of Bucky’s bachelor. Steve took that picture. Bucky doesn’t mention it.

“Yeah,” Bucky says mildly, handing the phone towards Natasha. “Let’s do that. Why not. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Believe it or not,” Pietro says to Natasha with a smirk, “people are usually a lot more enthusiastic about getting my hands on them.”

Natasha snorts. Bucky understands now why Natasha would push Pietro so thoroughly unto him. He’s basically a male version of her. Bucky can’t help being a little enamored. He’s an incredibly hot male version of Natasha.

Pietro holds out Bucky’s hair in his hands and smiles. He explains what he’s going to do and whatever tool he’s holding. Bucky swallows, trying to focus on what he’s saying and not his voice. Natasha, that has long since sat down in the swiveling chair next to him, hums and nods intently, so that’s cover enough for Bucky. As soon as Pietro starts to angle Bucky’s face with his thumb and his index, Bucky is lost to the warm, expert touch.

Bucky isn’t surprised that Pietro does know what he’s doing. After all, his place is huge and he looks a little under thirty. Bucky has never asked about his age, but he suspects that he’s at least five years younger, if not more. This sort of success, especially in the middle of Manhattan, is not given.

Once Pietro is done, Bucky can barely recognize himself. It is as close as the picture that Pietro could get. Bucky runs a hand through his hair in disbelief.

“What do you think?” Pietro asks, almost shyly, like he doesn’t know he did a great job.

Natasha gets up and presses both her hands into Bucky’s shoulders. “James,” she says softly, “look at you.”

Bucky swallows thickly. He hasn’t really looked at himself recently. He’s never been vain, but he was always confident to the point of cockiness. That was a part of himself he had lost along the years, along so many other things that he never noticed he let go of. He realizes now, how withdrawn he had become, since that picture had been taken. He can’t even blame Steve for that. That was all him. Steve would have been just an excuse, not the cause.

He turns to Natasha. “How's it look?”

He almost bites his tongue because that’s another old habit he’s been falling into. He can’t look up to Natasha and demand reassurance whenever he needs it. He stares at his own reflection again, more sternly, trying to make himself believe in his own thoughts. He can be on his own, he can be a full person too, not holding on to whoever is closest for safety.

“I think it’s good,” he says, not waiting for Natasha to speak. She looks a little surprised but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky goes on, “Thanks, Pietro. Does this mean I’m a work of art now, then?”

Pietro laughs and puts his hand through Bucky’s hair again. “Sure. Guess that makes you my Galatea. Didn’t even have to kiss you with a breath of life. Real shame, if you ask me.”

Bucky can’t school his features into obedience and looks up Pietro’s reflection in surprise. Pietro just laughs, just as brightly as before. Natasha is just grinning like this is the best day of her life.

“Just because I didn’t go to college doesn’t mean I don’t know how to read. We read _The Metamorphosis_ in Sokovia too, you know?” he says when he calms down.

“I, uh,” Bucky mumbles. “I’m sorry?” he tries.

Pietro barks out another laugh, running his big hands through Bucky scalp, rubbing gently. “You know what? You guys should come out with me this weekend. There’s this party on Friday I need to attend. Nothing fancy but lots of booze. Wanda’s coming too.”

“Sure, sounds great,” Natasha replies quickly.

“And you,” Pietro says, pulling lightly at Bucky’s hair, “owe me a drink for thinking I’m just some airhead hairdresser.”

Bucky smirks. “Just say you want to show off your work with your fancy designer friends. A curl pattern like this, I bet you can’t fake it.”

Pietro nods, with a big smile on his chiseled face. His teeth are pearly white, his mouth is a soft pink and Bucky wants to know what it tastes like.

“You got me,” Pietro teases. “So, you’ll be there or what?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out quietly. “I’ll be there.”

“Alright, that’s a plan,” Pietro says brightly and finally lets go of Bucky. As soon as it’s gone, Bucky aches for the touch. For more. “Don’t mean to kick you guys out, but I do need to let my employees go home.”

“No worries,” Natasha says as she gets up. “I’ll call Teddy tomorrow. See you Friday, then.”

She goes to hug Pietro tightly and Bucky knows for sure she barely ever does that. He’s also certain she’s done it so that now Bucky has the excuse to do the same. Bucky tries to give Pietro the bro-est hug goodbye feasible.

“How much do you charge for this kind of thing?” He says, waving a hand at the general vicinity of his hair.

“Oh, no,” Pietro declares, “this one is on the house. You’ll find ways of making it up to me, I’m sure.”

Bucky hopes to god he isn’t blushing right then. He nods. “Oh yeah, sure,” he blurts out awkwardly. “So, Friday, huh?”

“Friday, indeed,” Pietro smiles. “See you Bucky, Nat. Always a pleasure. If you’re this close, you can come visit anytime.”

Bucky nods awkwardly and waves goodbye as he exits the salon. It doesn’t take Natasha longer than a minute to snigger at him. And it’s also still snowing. Goddamn it.

“Bucky Barnes,” she says in a deep voice.

“No,” Bucky grumbles, “I am not partaking in this.”

“Will you let me be your Pygmalion, Bucky Barnes?” she keeps going.

“I am taking a cab and I am not letting you in with me.”

“But, Bucky Barnes!” she calls after him after he picks up his pace, “let me give you the kiss of life!”

Bucky walks as fast as he can, but he can’t help smiling. He hasn’t felt this easy in his own body since the divorce. He would have never been to a hair salon when he was still married to Steve. He would have never let himself live anything outside of their home, outside of the cocoon he was trying so hard to preserve. It feels…pretty good. It feels like he’s getting somewhere. Finally.


	4. Boots on the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever,” Bucky says with a shrug, “let’s just go. Those people make anything work because they’re confident in it.”
> 
> Natasha nods. “Don’t let the outfit wear you.”
> 
> “Yeah. We get it. We’re in.”
> 
> They are definitely not in. 
> 
> They are also among the oldest people there, excepting the security and the photographers there. They are photographers and security. If that’s what Pietro thinks of when he says, “nothing fancy”, Bucky is very afraid to go to one of his fancy parties.

Bucky is faced with a decision. A decision that no one else but him can make. He looks down at the bed where he’s spread three different outfits. Natasha, by his side, ponders the choices too.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he says after a while. “Why is it this hard?”

Natasha, patiently, shrugs. “It’s not like we could call Pietro and ask what the dress code is. Because that’d be ridiculous.”

She rolls her eyes at Bucky when she finally realizes it was a serious question. “I thought you were friends. I thought I should have let it go. Wow, look at that, I was right, once again. Who could have predicted this!” she says mildly, as if the sarcasm needed to be even more obvious.

Bucky kind of wants to strangle her. She’s lucky he loves her so much.

“Fine. He’s hot as hell. He’s made his interest clear and he’s probably planning this too. I just want…I don’t know. I want it to work out. I want to do it right.”

Natasha has a bright smile. He manages to not pout. He points to the pile of clothes. “You can gloat later. Can we do this, for now?”

She looks back at the clothes in front of her, assessing. Bucky put down three different pairs of trousers, all black, but all slightly different. Different enough to make his night. He knows damn well his best assets are down south. He never skips leg days. He knows Natasha doesn’t see how they’re different by her bored expression.

“Just point at something, I don’t know. I’ll know whether or not I want that outfit if you tell me you prefer it.”

“So you want me to choose something just to shoot it down and realize which one you wanted from the beginning without knowing?” she replies flatly. “It’s all black anyway. You always wear black.”

“Excuse you, I wear grey too. I own white shirts.”

“Then the grey one,” she says, pointing at the cashmere V-neck sweater he’s got lying down on top of the tailored wool trousers.

“Too formal,” he says immediately.

“Ok, great, then the black one,” she continues, now holding up the black turtleneck he put on top of the casual trousers that look like sweatpants but are really cashmere and very luxurious.

“I’m just going to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“God, I give up,” she mutters. She picks up the last pair of pants, which are really just black jeans, and the black loose button-down shirt and throws it in his face. “Twenty minutes of my life I’m never getting back. You know how much an hour of my time is worth. Jesus. The things you make me do.”

She grumbles until the door is closed behind her and Bucky inspects the clothes one last time. This is a trendy sort of outfit. Bucky reads GQ. He’s up to date.

It’s not because Pietro hangs out in the New York fashion scene that Bucky feels intimated. It’s more because Pietro feels so cosmopolitan, like he’s living the high life. He’s young, more successful in his career than Bucky will ever be probably, he’s so confident and he’s very sexy. What could make him want Bucky for anything? When he can probably have anybody else? There must be a catch somewhere. He must think Bucky is something that he isn’t, because Bucky is a disaster on a good day.

He changes into the outfit and puts on some black dress shoes, then thinks about it again. Maybe, he should go for sneakers. He can’t really wear converse with a shirt he’ll look ridiculous. But then again, all of these trendy people on the street style pages look a little ridiculous. Could Bucky make it work?

“Ready?” Natasha calls from the living room. “Do you want to be late on your first date?”

Bucky groans. He wants to remind her how it’s not a date, how this means nothing in the grand scheme of things, how he doesn’t care about Pietro in that way and that it might very well be only a one-time thing, but it would almost be a lie.

He picks up the lace up shoes. He goes into the living room to find Natasha in a tight short black dress and silver shoes.

“Now, I’m thinking I’m underdressed,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong with this dress?” She says, looking down at herself. “It’s casual enough. It’s a fashion party. Fashion people wear all sorts of outfits, right?”

“Whatever,” Bucky says with a shrug, “let’s just go. Those people make anything work because they’re confident in it.”

Natasha nods. “Don’t let the outfit wear you.”

“Yeah. We get it. We’re in.”

*****

They are definitely not in.

They are also among the oldest people there, excepting the security and the photographers there. There are photographers and security. If that’s what Pietro thinks of when he says, “nothing fancy”, Bucky is very afraid to go to one of his fancy parties.

There is a very bored, stocky security guard at the entry that asks to check their IDs to let them in. Bucky feels obscenely old and like he’s seventeen again at the same time. If this is throwing Natasha off, she doesn’t say anything. She’s got her lawyer poker face on and is not letting anything show.

Finding Pietro and Wanda is a mission and a half. The place is huge, massive halls after massive halls, people that are certainly models who live on the covers of vogue thorough the world standing everywhere. Bucky is glad to have gone for the smart shoes instead of the sneakers, but it doesn’t help his growing anxiety.

Natasha eventually stirs them towards the smoking terrace outside. Pietro is also a smoker and they might be able to find him through a smaller crowd. Once again, Natasha’s instincts are right on the money and they find Pietro and Wanda by the edge of the platform.

Natasha and Bucky walk over to meet them. Wanda jumps from where she was sitting on the parapet and wraps Natasha into a big hug. She then moves to Bucky and presses a light kiss into his cheek, beaming brightly.

“Nat! Bucky! You guys made it!” she exclaims happily. “What do you think? It’s cool, right?”

Cool is one word Bucky would not have used but he nods anyway. He sets his eyes on Pietro, who is leaning against the parapet, a cigarette in his mouth, looking like he was carved in marble by the gods of temptation. Bucky swallows. He can do this. He walks over to him and hugs him as quickly as can seem natural before taking a small step back.

Pietro is wearing a beanie, his silver hair peering out from underneath. Bucky taps at it. “Covering up all your hard work?”

“Wouldn’t want to steal the spotlight from you, babe,” Pietro says with a smile. “You’re the star of the show.”

Bucky swallows. So that’s new. He can deal with pet names. It’s not like Pietro made it a secret he was into Bucky. If he had to make it any clearer, he’d have to have sucked Bucky off right there and then. But still, every time Pietro’s flirts so openly, Bucky feels as shy and awkward as he would have when he was a kid. Pietro is not your average guy next door. Bucky keeps expecting him to change his mind and move on.

But Pietro doesn’t. Pietro takes their little group back into the hallways, through different doors and they end up on what has to be some sort of rave going on. Bucky hasn’t really paid attention to his environment but he’s sure they’re in the basement now. The air is warmer, the spotlights are dimmer, a lot redder and everyone seems a lot more wasted than in the upper level. Maybe this is the ‘nothing too fancy’ side of the party.

Bucky has missed dancing. He was always happy to go out clubbing before he shipped out. It had been hard, at first, go back into a dark room with a crowd of strangers and loud music, when he had come back from the war. But Bucky had just loved the feeling of going out. Getting dressed, drinking with his friends, jumping around excitedly whenever his favorite song came on. When he first met Natasha, they had gone out almost every day of the week, broke as they were. Bucky hasn’t gone dancing in years now.

He hasn’t forgotten about dancing. It’s not that hard to thump his body along the music again. Natasha seems just as comfortable as he is. Only thing that’s new is that he doesn’t know any of the songs. Wanda and Pietro do. Bucky remembers how Pietro said he should consider getting some new friends. Maybe that was what he meant.

They dance and they drink. If Bucky had known it was this easy to have fun, maybe he would have indulged earlier. What was he so afraid of? In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. He’s done the hardest part of the way already and he was quivering in his boots for this? A party with his friends? It feels very foolish now.

He dances close to Pietro. They’re all close together really because the place is so small. Pietro is a good enough dancer. He follows Bucky’s body with a wide grin on his face. Bucky wants to kiss him breathless.

After Bucky finishes his third drink, Pietro shakes a cigarette pack in front of his face, gesturing to an exit. Bucky narrows his eyes at him. Natasha pushes him in Pietro’s direction. She yells in his ear.

“Go! He’s going to the smoking area! Go with him!”

Bucky swallows any protests and does as he’s told. He finds the terrace again easily. Pietro is even easier to spot this time as the crowd have thinned out with the hour. Bucky hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten.

Pietro looks surprised to see him. He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you smoked too.”

“I don’t,” Bucky says with a shrug, “I quit years ago. Just thought I could use fresh air.”

Pietro nods like he has any idea about Bucky’s state of mind. His cigarette dances in his fingers. Bucky stares at it as Pietro brings it back to his mouth.

“So, what do you think? You like it?”

“It’s nothing like I thought it would be. You go to things like this every week?”

Pietro’s eyes crinkle in a slight wince. “I do work hard, you know.”

“I know,” Bucky says with a smile. He gestures vaguely at his hair. “I’m the living proof right?”

This is pretty cheesy but Pietro brightens at that. He brings his free hand to Bucky hair and brushes it back, arranging the curls properly.

“Yeah, how could I forget?”

Pietro advances. He puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s body, holding on to the railing with all his fingers. Like this, Bucky is surrounded by Pietro, entrapped in him as if he were in a cage. There’s nowhere else Bucky’d rather be.

Pietro sucks on the cigarette, his mouth just inches away from Bucky’s. He licks his lips thoughtfully before he speaks.

“You want to get out of here, baby?”

Bucky has never heard sweeter words.

“Sure,” he says with a shrug like something in his insides hasn’t suddenly turned on. “What do you have in mind?”

Pietro’s throat rumbles like he’s laughing as he takes another drag of the cigarette. Bucky hasn’t smoked in years. He should have some words of protest. He feels like a he’s about to be eaten whole. He’s not afraid. He stares right back at Pietro.

“Let’s get back to my place,” Pietro says, tossing the cigarette away. His hands, somehow, find their way to rest on Bucky’s hips. “I said I could show you a good time, right? I’m a man of my word.”

Pietro leans in, he’s so close but somehow still too far away. He’s waiting for Bucky to move forward. Their foreheads touch. Bucky closes his eyes. He unfolds his arms and wraps them around Pietro’s neck. He feels Pietro’s hot breath on his own lips. It’s like time has stopped for them. Bucky hears no one else, no music, only the faint beat of his own heart.

Bucky kisses Pietro. He’s thought about what it would be like since the Independence Day party. He has kept that to himself, of course, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Pietro has nice full lips, pink and pale, and Bucky has imagined kissing him countless times. His lips are soft, and they part easily for Bucky. Pietro’s grip on Bucky’s hips tighten. His fingers dig into the flesh there, it’s not gentle. It’s hurried, it’s rough. Bucky wants to see how far they can go, how much Pietro will give him. He wants to take, take and take.

“I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of you,” Bucky whispers against Pietro’s open mouth. They’re both a little breathless. Bucky cups Pietro’s jaw with both his hands. He says into his ear, “or maybe you’re all talk?”

This seems to ignite something in Pietro as well. He pushes Bucky back against the railing, pushing all his weight into him. He grabs onto the bar, taking his hands off of Bucky. He kisses him again and this time, it’s not as wondering, as testing. It’s like Bucky gave Pietro the go ahead and now Pietro does as he likes. Does what he wanted. Bucky lets him, he holds on to him like this is the only way he’ll ever get air again.

It doesn’t take them long to gather whatever they left at the coat check before hopping into the first taxi. Bucky forgot all about Natasha when he got his hands on Pietro but he knows she’ll be fine. She’s with Wanda. She’s also an adult who can find her way back on her own.

Bucky stares at the side of Pietro’s face, in the darkness of the backseat. He reaches out and strokes his stubbled cheek with two fingers, barely a touch. Pietro turns around and Bucky traces the outline of his lips with the back of his two first knuckles. Pietro parts his lips, just half an inch and lets Bucky feel the inviting warmth of his mouth. Bucky’s already half hard in his pants at the sight of this. This is something to behold. The whole universe stands in this cab.

It’s really a miracle they make it to the apartment, a tangle of limbs and hurried, frantic touches. Pietro drops his keys once or twice before finally, _finally_ , pushing them in the lock and letting them in.

Bucky almost wants to take his time. He wants to take off all of Pietro’s clothes, slowly and learn every curve of his body. Map him with his mouth and his hands. Maybe another time. For now, he lets Pietro take the lead, he lets him push him against the wall and press his body against Bucky’s, kissing, sucking and biting down his neck.

They’re both pretty inebriated. It’s a real feat they’ve come this far. Bucky tries his hardest to set his brain into easy tasks, like undressing himself or Pietro. He drops his jacket on the floor, kicks his shoes off somewhere, tries to get Pietro’s shirt off. They keep on kissing, not breaking apart for more than a second or two. Bucky feels a roar in his chest, something deep and primal awakening. He feels a little ridiculous. He’s had sex before. He’s had sex with plenty of strangers by now. This feels different though. This feels like something he ought to savor.

Pietro’s bedroom is the first door they bump into, which is a blessing in and of itself. They finally shed whatever clothes they had managed to keep until then and they stand by the bed, both in their naked glory, so close that Bucky’s skin feels Pietro’s warmth sharply.

Bucky strokes the length of Pietro. He’s already hard, desperately so. He makes a sound, half a gasp, half a groan and Bucky grins at him. He can’t wait to draw more of these out of Pietro. Then, he goes to grip at the head and notices that Pietro is circumcised. This doesn’t really have to mean anything, since practically everyone is these days, but this gives Bucky pause.

Pietro realizes because he stares at Bucky with open eyes. “Something wrong?” he asks, a little breathless.

“Uh,” Bucky says, suddenly unable to find words that wouldn’t make this sound weird, “are you Jewish by any chance?”

Pietro’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t know? My name is Maximoff. I’m from Sokovia. I feel like that says enough. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky winces. “No, no, no. I’m Jewish.”

“You’re Jewish? Bucky Barnes…No way.”

“On my mom’s side,” Bucky explains. This should be more awkward than it is, talking about their religion with Pietro’s dick in Bucky’s hands, still pretty hard. Bucky gives him another stroke for good measure.

Pietro has another noise, that’s more of a giggle than a moan. “Baby, don’t start thinking about how proud your mom would be right now.” He cups Bucky’s jaw to bring him forward for another kiss. “Let’s keep your head in the game. I really want this.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “I’m sorry. Forget about this.”

Bucky tries not to think about how Pietro _really_ wants this and goes back to the task at hand. He suppresses the giggle waiting to leave his throat because he’s not about to thoroughly ruin the moment with stupid puns.

He pushes Pietro into the bed. Pietro looks up to him, propping himself up with his elbows. He’s staring at him, like he’s delighted with him, like this is more than he believed he’d get. Bucky straddles his hips and runs his hands on Pietro’s chest.

“I want you like this,” Bucky says softly, “do you mind?”

Pietro shakes his head. “I don’t mind. Whatever you want.”

Bucky presses his hands down on Pietro’s chest until he’s flat on his back. Pietro licks his lower lip, waiting, like he’s happy to wait as long as Bucky will decide. Bucky almost gives in to it. Another time. For now, he needs Pietro like he needs air in his lungs.

Pietro seems to understand well enough and manages to get to his bedside table’s drawers without getting away from where Bucky’s got him pinned down. He holds a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms in Bucky’s direction. Again, he’s letting Bucky decide of this. Bucky feels almost smug.

He takes the lube and slicks up his own fingers. He tips his body back, his erected cock flush against his stomach. Pietro reaches for it, his eyes so much darker than usual. He gives Bucky a couple of strokes as he watches him work himself open. Bucky makes a quick work of this. He knows his own body well enough.

He puts the condom on Pietro before he rubs some more lube on him and sinks down on his length. Pietro groans, his hands holding tight at Bucky’s waist. Pietro is quite loud, Bucky notices, he loves to babble. His voice is low and dark. Bucky is still a little shocked he’s the reason for this.

He starts rolling his hips, bouncing his ass on Pietro’s cock. He gets into a steady rhythm, keeps Pietro guessing, going slower and slower, getting all the way up before taking him all in again.

“Fuck, Bucky,” Pietro swears, running his hands on the sides of Bucky, “you’re so beautiful.”

Bucky bites his lip, hiding a moan as he rides Pietro in earnest, finally. He takes his own cock in his hand and jerks himself off in sync with his movement. Under him, Pietro tightens. All his muscles harden. He doesn’t have to say anything, Bucky can read him clearly enough.

He arches his back, putting both his hands on Pietro’s shoulders. Pietro grabs his ass and drills up into him like he’s going to bust out off skin if he can’t have this. Bucky comes in his own hand, not long before Pietro.

Bucky flops down into Pietro’s chest. He rests his face in the crook of his neck, kissing the skin there softly. Pietro scratches at the back of Bucky’s skull. He rolls him to the side and slides off his body slowly. Bucky can’t take his eyes off him. Pietro is usually so collected. Calm in a way that always unnerves Bucky. Now, his cheeks are red, his breath is harder. Bucky has succeeded in unsettling him.

He watches him go into the bathroom, still naked. Pietro comes back with a wet cloth that he tosses to Bucky and a glass of water that he puts on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t say a word but Bucky feels very grateful. He cleans himself off quickly and finishes the water in two gulps. Pietro takes the cloth back and goes to refill the water. When he comes back for the second time, he lies down right next to Bucky, still just as quiet.

Bucky doesn’t know whether or not he should make a move to leave. He doesn’t know what that would mean. Pietro doesn’t say anything. He looks like he’s already asleep. His eyes are closed, and his breathing has evened now. Bucky lifts his head to look around. He has no idea where most of his clothes are.

“Go to sleep, Bucky,” Pietro mumbles, patting around with his hand, trying to find where Bucky is lying down, “you deserve it.”

Damn right, Bucky thinks, finding his breath back. He’s goddamn right.

*****

Bucky tries his best to forget about Pietro after the party. They don’t exchange numbers because they already have each other’s numbers. They don’t promise to call each other because they do see each other occasionally. Bucky sees Pietro’s twin sister every day of his work week. It’s not as awkward as it could be but it’s not the smoothest Bucky has ever felt.

A week passes by and Bucky hasn’t heard from Pietro. He hasn’t sent anything to him either. It’s a little uneasy. Natasha is no help, as always, because she finds Bucky ridiculous for bringing up any objection to anything. So, Bucky waits. He’s bound to see Pietro again at some point. Better leave it up to fate.

And turns out, fate is faster than anyone could have expected. Thanksgiving comes quicker than Bucky had thought, and Natasha is on a mission to throw some big, fancy, over the top event at her apartment since Clint is home for the holidays. Bucky isn’t thrilled, because he does hate parties and fancy sitting down dinners, but he agrees to indulge Natasha in the preparation.

They’re sitting side by side on the couch in the living room, both their tablets in front of them, both logged on Natasha’s overflowing Pinterest account. Bucky wants to know as little as possible about that forsaken website.

Natasha pulls out another picture of a table set with extremely complicated decorations made up of dead leaves and a hideous pumpkin printed runner.

“Anything except this,” Bucky says pointing at that abomination. “I couldn’t care less about this dinner, but I won’t go if you make this, I swear to god.”

“You should be a little happier. Pietro is coming. That’ll give you an excuse to see him and make moon eyes at him all night.”

Bucky sits up a bit straighter, suddenly a lot more interested in the conversation.

“Did you invite Pietro just so I’d care about how you’re going to set the table?”

“Are you still avoiding him?” Natasha asks instead of answering, glaring at him a little.

“Well…I don’t know. Who is supposed to call who? If I call him, he’ll definitely think I’m desperate. He hasn’t called me, so…”

“Pietro always comes on Thanksgiving. He comes with Wanda. Your little sexcapade doesn’t need to come in the way of tradition.”

“What tradition? You’ve had what, two Thanksgiving dinners since I’ve met you? Now that I’m divorced and trying my hardest to seem desirable, all of sudden, there’s _traditions_?”

Natasha glares at him some more. He rolls his eyes.

“Traditions can be started anytime you want. I never had Thanksgiving dinners before I moved to the states. I’m making a home with traditions. I’m a homemaker.”

Bucky snorts at that. “Not with fucking mulch on a table. No one will eat anything next to that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in luck. There are hundreds of boards. Get comfortable, Bucky Barnes.”

He sighs but he does as he’s told. He owes her for all the moping he’s done for a good half year. It’s only fair. He even did promise to repay her with his attendance to whatever stupid party ideas would go through her head. It’s only a little annoying. And what sort of friend would he be, if he didn’t save her from embarrassment with horrible tabletops or whatever it is that she wants to decide on next?

*****

Bucky thought it would be a lot more awkward seeing Pietro after that party. Seeing Pietro at a thanksgiving party of all things. But Pietro isn’t as socially inept as Bucky is. He just smiled at Bucky, gave him a little hello embrace and moved to greet Natasha and Clint, like there was nothing to be embarrassed about. They had sex. They had very hot sex, but no big deal. That probably happened to Pietro weekly. Maybe even bi-weekly.

But then. _Then_. Pietro said it again.

They just sat down for dinner, the long table in the living room filled up with people. Natasha and Clint at one hand, then Yelena, that kid from SHIELD that Clint is training, Kate and then Wanda, Pietro and Bucky at the head of the table. The conversation got divided between the table, leaving Bucky and Pietro in sort of a weird silence, where they weren’t speaking directly to each other, but were still very close. Pietro had leaned in, just an inch, and said in that collected and smooth voice of his.

“Pass me the potatoes, babe, please?”

But Bucky could definitely achieve this very simple task. He takes a hold of himself and passes the dish over to Pietro. He didn’t miss the way Pietro’s fingers wrapped onto Bucky’s wrist, just for a fleeting second. This probably means nothing. Yet, it is enough to leave Bucky feeling terribly flustered.

The rest of the dinner, Bucky tries his best not to interact with Pietro. He has to keep himself under control. He’s a grown man. He can’t have a stupid crush on one of his friends like that. Even though said friend had expressed his interest very clearly when he had had sex with Bucky. They haven’t talked since then, so Bucky has to assume Pietro meant nothing by it.

After dessert, the whole table becoming more and more intoxicated, more and more conversations starts to explode. Arguments over actual current events or fictional tv shows and who is the most wrong about whatever character’s development. Bucky starts to zone out quickly.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Pietro getting up, fishing his cigarette pack out of his pocket. Bucky swallows. This is like a flashback to the party. Pietro notices him eyeing him up and makes a gesture to meet him outside on the balcony, like it’s a secret only they share. It could be, given how everyone else is obviously engrossed in calling each other idiots with different level of conviction.

Bucky follows Pietro outside, on Nat and Clint’s little terrace. It’s small, maybe eight feet across, with planks of wood as a floor and an iron rail. Pietro is already leaning out, peering at the Brooklyn buildings in front of him. He’s a picture if Bucky’s ever seen one. Bucky closes the sliding door behind him.

Pietro turns around, his back on the rail and stares at Bucky. For a second or so they only look at each other, assessing. Once again, they’re not sober but Bucky craves this with every cell that makes up his body, like this is his most guilty pleasure. He takes a step toward Pietro and leans on the rail at the left side of him.

“Ever heard these kill you?” Bucky says to say anything.

“Once or twice,” Pietro admits, “it’s not the worse habit I can’t shake.”

Pietro blows all the smoke out of the side of his mouth. His lips curl into a slight smirk. He taps the cigarette to let the ash fall out of the balcony. He moves into Bucky’s space. Bucky holds his own breath. He wants this but he doesn’t know how to say it. If he should even say it. Fucking once doesn’t have to mean anything, but what about re-offending? Wouldn’t that make it awkward at work, for him and Wanda?

Pietro puts a hand on Bucky’s hip and all his coherent thoughts go out the window.

“This ok?” Pietro says in that breathless voice, taking another drag of his cigarette.

This is a lot more than ok. This is great. Fantastic, some might say.

“Fine, yeah,” is all that Bucky can manage.

“Sorry if I taste like an ashtray.”

“I, uh, don’t mind.”

Smooth.

This would be Pietro’s own fault if he’d realize only then that Bucky is a mess. Because of whatever merciful god that has taken a liking to Bucky, Pietro doesn’t. His hand on Bucky’s hip crawls up to his back, pulling him right into Pietro’s chest. Bucky inhales, bracing himself.

Unlike the first time they kissed, Pietro teases Bucky first. He presses his mouth on Bucky’s, like he intends only to brush their lips together. It’s torturous, it’s delicious. Bucky feels burned from the inside. He opens his mouth and grabs Pietro’s waist with both his hands, trying to get as much contact between them as possible.

If this is a mistake, Bucky would make it again in a heartbeat. He wraps his arms around Pietro’s neck and lets himself melt against him. Pietro picks up on the invitation and slides a thigh between Bucky’s. They only break apart for a half second, panting, forehead pressed together.

Pietro has a small laugh, that could also be just him catching his breath, then put the cigarette back between his kissed-bitten lips. He finishes it in one drag and throws it off. He blows it upwards, most of it getting into Bucky’s face and it really should be disgusting. It shouldn’t be this hot. Bucky can’t help tracing the line of Pietro’s lips. He’s losing his mind. His world hangs there, on these two plush red lines.

“Nat and Clint won’t mind?” Pietro asks quietly.

Bucky doesn’t need to ask for clarification. “Oh, no. Don’t worry, I pay rent here.”

Sexy as hell. Bucky is on a roll tonight.

“Glad to know you’re a responsible adult, baby,” Pietro says a little chuckle, like he finds Bucky’s awkwardness adorable.

Bucky beams at him. Pietro finds him _charming_. What a blessing from high above.

“Want to show me your room, then?” Pietro goes on, not before giving Bucky another languorous kiss. “I feel like laying down after all this food.”

“Yeah, that’s what Thanksgiving is really about. Eating and sleeping.”

“There’s one or two things I’m very thankful for tonight,” Pietro says with a grin.

It’s ridiculous, it’s overdone but Bucky can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. He doesn’t need sultry voices and smooth lines. They can just be themselves.

Bucky pulls on Pietro’s collar. “Alright, well, the bedroom isn’t on this balcony so you’re going to have to get off me if you want to get there tonight.”

Pietro groans like this is a terrible fate he has to face but does obey. They go back into the living room. Bucky prays that he doesn’t look like what he knows he looks like. Horny as hell, disheveled, guilty. He hadn’t even noticed that everyone had left already. How long were they standing on the balcony, making out? Even Wanda had taken the hint. This ought to be embarrassing but Bucky can’t help feeling grateful instead.

They walk over to Bucky’s bedroom. Bucky is glad he thought about cleaning it up that morning. The bed even has fresh sheets. He lets Pietro direct him there, lets himself be pushed down. Pietro presses himself against Bucky and buries his hand in his hair.

“It really suits you, hair like this,” Pietro declares fondly, “I bet your hairdresser is very talented.”

Bucky snorts. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Pietro finds Bucky’s lips again and they linger there, just laying down and kissing. Bucky feels like he’s made of cotton, soft and full. But Pietro has his eyes on the prize. He grinds his hips against Bucky’s, slotting their erections together and Bucky gasps. Yes, how could he forget about that?

Pietro kisses behind Bucky’s ear and chuckles when he hears him gasp. He manages to get Bucky to get up to rid him of his shirt. Then, he licks his way down Bucky’s throat, catches a nipple between his teeth, doesn’t miss Bucky’s abs. He undoes his jeans, freeing Bucky’s hard cock. Bucky sighs as Pietro takes him in his mouth. Of course, Pietro is also amazing at sucking dick. Bucky should have expected that. He still can’t silence his cry.

Pietro finds his way in between Bucky’s thigh and works him open with his tongue, his hand on Bucky’s dick. Bucky squirms but Pietro’s grip is steady. He holds Bucky down and lets him feel this. Take it. Bucky moans and moans. He hopes he’s not being too loud. He’s too far beyond to care.

But Pietro stops. Bucky lifts his heavy head with difficulty. He blinks a couple times.

“Something wrong?” he says quietly.

“Baby, the lube,” Pietro replies impatiently, “I’ve asked you three times.”

“Oh,” Bucky realizes, “sorry, this drawer.” He points with his chin. “There’s condoms too.”

“That good, huh?” Pietro mocks as he goes to open the drawer. “Am I all talk now?”

“You are talking a lot, yes,” Bucky manages. He wants to pat himself on the back for that. He can be witty in basically any circumstances.

Pietro laughs before he repositions himself where he was. He doesn’t rush, not this time. He pays attention to all of Bucky’s reaction to his movements. He looks up at him so intently. Bucky almost can’t take this sort of attention and care. He wants to tell Pietro to hurry it and fuck him already, to give him what he needs but he feels lost in his pale blue eyes. There’s so much affection there, there’s reverence. Bucky craves it, wants to surround himself with it, build himself a cocoon and never leave.

They take their time. It’s slow and passionate. Pietro fucks him with something almost like gentleness. He pushes in inch by inch, waiting for Bucky to coax him in, to demand more. Pietro’s control is like iron until it’s not. Until he loses himself in Bucky’s body and can’t hold back anymore. Bucky welcomes it. He comes first, in Pietro’s hand, with a shout that surprises both of them. Pietro is quick to follow, his breath hot against Bucky’s collarbone. Bucky’s hands dig into the meat of Pietro’s back, holding on as tightly as he can. They don’t move for a long while. The world stands still.

Bucky is pretty sure he drifts off. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the food coma waiting to happen. Pietro is the one who moves. He rolls over to the side, only a couple of inches away and Bucky feels the cool air on his skin sharply. He wants to link his fingers with Pietro’s, bring him back towards him but that would be too intimate. Even after all they’ve done, Bucky is definitely not ready for that sort of touch.

“I can’t stay the night,” Pietro says after a couple of minutes, and it sounds a little dejected. “I’ve got to be at a shoot at 7AM tomorrow.”

Bucky can’t really object to that, so he just nods against the pillow, staring at the side of Pietro’s face.

“Next time, ok?” Pietro continues.

Bucky flushes at the mention of a next time. So, this is becoming a regular thing that they do. Something they plan.

“Sure. Send me pictures of your fancy photo shoot job. It’ll brighten my day in the office, I can tell you that now.”

Pietro smiles. It’s bright and easy and Bucky wants to etch it deep in his memory. Keep that in his pocket for rainy days.

“Of course, baby.” He strokes Bucky’s cheek with the back of his hand. “My number one fan right here.”

*****

When Bucky leaves his room in the morning, he’s not surprised to find Natasha almost cupping her ear by the door.

“Bucky Barnes!” Natasha manages in between fits of giggles.

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses.

“Is he still here?”

“No,” Bucky says with a sigh. “He left early. Can you stop being a teenage girl for five minutes?”

“But Bucky Barnes!”

“This was funny maybe one time.”

“What about the kiss of life!”

“Jesus Christ.”

Natasha laughs a little longer at her own stupid joke before she manages to pull a sentence together. “Are you seeing him now? Are you going to have the _what are we_ talk?”

“I’m going back to bed,” Bucky grumbles. “It’s too early for this bullshit.”

He looks at the clock that hangs on the wall in front of him. 7:16AM. It _is_ too early.

*****

Bucky doesn’t start seeing Pietro. Nothing really changes, but Bucky wakes up on the last Sunday before Christmas to a text from Pietro. Bucky is meant to leave the next Thursday to Indianapolis, to spend the holidays in his mom’s house. He hasn’t told Pietro that, because they really don’t have that sort of relationship, but he’s glad to see Pietro thinking of him before the break.

The text reads; _Are you free today? I’m going to the Christmas market if you feel like coming with_

That’s a succinct as every other text from Pietro is, but Bucky still feels a little overwhelmed by how excited he gets as he reads it. He forces himself to calm down and replies as casually as he can manage with; _sure, what time you thinking?_

That’s completely detached. Pietro, and no one else for that matter, will ever know how long it took Bucky to think about that answer. Pietro replies fast enough, proposing two o’clock, which leaves Bucky with about four hours to get ready. Just enough time to get the perfect outfit for the occasion, then.

Bucky almost gets out the door without Natasha realizing but isn’t lucky enough to escape her death stare. He shuffles on his feet uncomfortably.

“What?” he mutters after a half minute of intense staring.

“You’re going out,” she declares.

“Yeah. I am.”

“To see your boyfriend,” she goes on and it’s not a question.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I slept with him two times. He’s not even a fuckbuddy at this point. We’re Christmas shopping, if you have to know about my whereabouts.”

“Christmas shopping,” she repeats for emphasis.

“Yes,” Bucky soldiers on, “shopping, for the upcoming holiday of Christmas.”

“You’re both Jewish.”

“And yet this is the world we live on. What a shame, am I right? Forced to celebrate those goy holidays. A sad fate.”

“You _like_ like him,” she finally says, cheering up.

“I do not!” Bucky grumbles. “I mean…He’s nice. We’re also friends. We’re hanging out. Are you done?”

She nods absently before putting both her hands on his shoulders. She looks right into his eyes as she speaks, “this is good. You deserve to be happy too.”

Bucky knows this. He really does. It doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t stop him from thinking about Steve every day, every hour. He wishes he could just put a cap on these memories of Steve, just for some peace, some time he could spent quietly. But he can’t. The best he’s got is distraction. Pietro is far more than a distraction. He’s a great person, funny and charismatic. Bucky can try.

“Yeah, guess so,” is all he manages to say.

“Get me some French cheese at the Christmas market,” she replies, moving away, “and some French ornaments, for the tree.”

Bucky smiles. “What the hell is a French ornament?”

“The kind you get at the French Christmas market,” she says mildly with the same smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Atta boy. Have fun.”

Bucky presses a kiss on her forehead before putting his coat and scarf on to brave the cold New York air of December. Natasha waves him off like he’s a kid going to school. Bucky flips her off and heads down the stairs.

*****

Pietro asked Bucky to meet him at the market. Every time they meet up, it feels like finding a needle in a haystack. Pietro must have a thing for impossibly crowded place. The place is already huge, it’s obviously packed since it’s a Saturday. There are families everywhere. There’s no one that Bucky can even complain to. He’d be in a terrible mood if he didn’t see Pietro’s flash of silver hair by the gates of the market.

But Pietro doesn’t see him. He’s looking down on his phone like an idiot, so casually and unaffected, like he’s not waiting for anyone in particular. He’s wearing navy wide pants, a matching long car coat and a thick orange turtleneck sweater underneath, one sweater that looks extremely soft to the touch. Bucky wants to know if it is. He walks toward him and pulls out his own phone. He calls Pietro’s number and looks at him raise his head with a confused frown. He’s adorable.

“Baby, hi,” Pietro says as he finally notices Bucky walking over.

Bucky shivers a little. Because it’s cold.

“Hey,” he replies eloquently.

He doesn’t know whether to hug Pietro, kiss him or wave awkwardly. He takes a step forward and Pietro opens his arms for him. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s skull, running his long fingers in his hair, the other on the small of Bucky’s back, pressing him in, engulfing him in his fancy cologne that smells so enticing.

Pietro kisses his cheek lightly, like European people greet each other, Bucky guesses. Not like fuckbuddies greet each other. Or significant others. What did he used to do, with Steve? He can’t even remember. This is not the time to try and remind himself.

“So, do you this every year? Is this why Natasha loves you so much?” Bucky asks as they start making their ways to the little wooden stands.

Pietro shoves his hands in his pockets and has a half-shoulder shrug. “I don’t even care about the actual Christmas day, you know, because of Judaism.”

“Oh, that old thing,” Bucky agrees with a smirk.

Pietro smiles brightly, “I know right? Who remembers that?”

“Do you just really enjoy Christmas market specialties like screaming kids and beer in big mugs?”

“Actually, yes. When I first got to America, me and Wanda loved it here because it reminded us of the old country. Back in Sokovia, they’re huge. I just like the festive spirit. If it was opened during Hanukkah, we’d go everyday and get some more sculpted candles.”

Bucky likes to hear Pietro talk. He loves his stories about his childhood, about where he grew up. It’s easy to get lost in his voice, to picture everything he talks about vividly. They walk around the stands close together, never a lull in the conversation. They only separate when Bucky goes to find the ornament stand and Pietro goes to investigate if they have any ridiculous candles and some jelly doughnuts apparently.

Bucky finds a stand that he deems tacky enough and gets to work. He finds three little crocheted angels, one with a red face and a deep frown that he’ll say is Natasha, one with a yellow face and wonky eyes that will definitely be Clint and one brown one with one line for a smile that will have to be him. He holds up his great practical joke to the side of the stand, inspecting the other for something that would resemble a dog the best when he sets his eyes on a familiar figure instead.

The one day he was feeling so much better. His heart is in his throat. He can barely swallow around it. There is Peggy fucking Carter.

He recognizes the set of deep, brown curls easily. How similar it is to his own. Steve really always had a type. Bucky doesn’t move. It only takes Peggy half a second to realize she’s being watched and to turn around, setting her warm brown eyes on him.

“James,” she says softly, a little surprised. For how big New York is, it’s really unfortunate to bump into his ex-husband’s girlfriend of all people.

Bucky would like to have the strength to turn around, to stay silent and pretend this has never happened, but he’s weak. He’s so weak. His legs aren’t steady under him.

“Hi, Peggy,” he replies in what he hopes isn’t a desperate tone.

There’s so much he wants to ask, that he wants to know. He can’t even find the words. His tongue feels too big for his own mouth.

For a second too long, they don’t move. They only stare at each other intently. Bucky wonders if Peggy has as much to ask as he does. He hopes she feels as awkward and uncomfortable as he does. That she feels some guilt. That not everything is going as smoothly as she had wanted. Steve Rogers is harder to love than he looks, Bucky knows this more than anyone.

He swallows, nodding to nothing, still holding to the stupid tree ornaments. Peggy looks down at his arms with a little smile.

“It’s, uh, for Natasha’s tree. She goes nuts for this stuff.”

“Looks lovely,” she comments dully.

Bucky has forgotten how much he hated her stupid accent. Of all people Steve could have replaced Bucky with, it had to be someone British and classy like Peggy. At least, Bucky’s hair looks better today.

“I’ll pass on the compliment,” he says to say anything at all. “Are you…”

He studies her more closely now. She’s got a few bags in her hands, she must have gone through all the stands already. She’s carrying it all alone, which means that she’s not with anyone. That she didn’t manage to drag Steve with her. Good, Bucky thinks, he hasn’t become a better person for someone that isn’t him. Steve still doesn’t give a shit about Christmas or festive spirit.

“Yes?” She presses once she realizes Bucky lost his train of thought.

Something cold wraps around Bucky’s heart. He hasn’t even thought about it, not yet anyway, but this is the first Christmas that he won’t be shopping for Steve. Usually, they get each other silly gifts to exchange with Bucky’s family and something to give each other at home when they get back to Brooklyn. This year, Bucky hasn’t even thought of the best prank gift for Steve. He’s not getting him anything because he won’t see him.

Peggy, in front of Bucky, with her gloved hands full of bags, has got it covered.

Bucky feels his body sink into the ground, all of sudden so thick with grief, it’s even harder to move. Since he was six years old, he’s spent every Christmas with Steve. Now he’s thirty-four and he’s decided he won’t do it ever again. It makes him a little nauseous. He feels his head spinning.

There’s a hand at the small of his back and someone talking quietly by his ear. Bucky didn’t even hear anyone come closer to him. So much for sniper’s instincts. He turns around and faces Pietro. Beautiful Pietro with his bright, cheerful smile, opened and inviting.

“Are you going to get all these? How big is Nat’s tree?” He says casually.

This breaks Bucky out of his stupor. “She’ll want every inch covered, trust me.”

Peggy is still patiently waiting.

“Sorry, Pietro, you’ve met Peggy before?” Bucky says, waving vaguely towards her.

“Sure, you work with Steve, right? It’s been a little while.”

Pietro extends his hand and Bucky remembers he didn’t even do that. He hopes Peggy won’t report that back to Steve. Or he hopes she does, that Steve has a frown on big, stupid face and says something like “this isn’t like Bucky at all.” Yeah, news for you, asshole, you don’t know me anymore.

“Christmas shopping?” Peggy tries.

Pietro holds out his hands with another smile. “I don’t celebrate Christmas. I just like the market. This one though,” he says, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder gently, “is on a mission to buy from every single stand in this place.”

Bucky manages to smile too. “Natasha has very specific taste in tacky Christmas trinkets.”

“I like your hair,” Peggy says, maybe to stir the conversation into something she can participate in, maybe out of politeness. “Haven’t seen you like this in years. Suits you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Pietro says, grinning.

Peggy looks in between the both of them with confusion.

“Pietro cut my hair,” Bucky supplies amiably.

Peggy nods in realization, with narrowed eyes, like she finally understood why they were hanging out in the first place. Couldn’t have been for romantic purposes, it’s surely because Pietro is just Bucky’s personal hairdresser. “Of course! I forgot, sorry, you own a salon.”

“Yeah,” Pietro replies and his smile hasn’t dimmed. “I’d give you my card but I’m sure you’ve got your own guy already. Your hair looks great.”

“You can trust him,” Bucky says, trying to get a hold on himself. It’s been six months. He can be a normal person for five minutes. “People say he’s an artist.”

Pietro pushes on his shoulder and Bucky sniggers, glancing at him from the side.

Peggy smiles at them, a little twinkle in her eyes, like she’s in on the joke all of sudden. Bucky hates this.

“Well, it was nice to see you, James, and you, Pietro. Have yourselves a merry Christmas and successful shopping.”

They all wave goodbye to each other awkwardly. Bucky breathes a little easier as he sees her go. He pays for his pile of ornaments with a shaky hand. He takes the bag and goes to leave the market. Cursed market, he thinks, now that he knows that Peggy goes there too.

“You alright, baby?” Pietro asks, turning to face him, running a hand through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky looks at Pietro. He only now remembers that Pietro doesn’t know about Steve and Peggy. Pietro is blissfully unaware. Pietro can remain Bucky’s pocket of happiness, carefully tucked away, unspoiled by all this mess.

Bucky grabs onto Pietro’s hips tightly. They haven’t discussed their relationship and Bucky really doesn’t want to, at least not yet, but he craves that comfort. Pietro invited him to this market. He calls him baby. They can do this, can’t they?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies, trying to give Pietro his best smile.

He holds on to him and closes the distance between their faces. Pietro has all the time to push him off, to dodge it, but he stays put. Pietro never runs away from him. He faces him head on, each time. Bucky decides to be brave. He kisses him, a light press of their lips, like at the Thanksgiving dinner, just to check for interest.

Pietro brings him closer and Bucky feels like he’s won the biggest prize at the fair. He opens his mouth and so does Pietro, then they’re making out in the middle of the French Christmas market in Manhattan. It’s so ridiculous, but it feels so right, Bucky smiles against Pietro’s mouth. They pull apart and he can see that Pietro is smiling too. He brushes a thumb on Bucky’s jaw.

“You’re done with all your Christmas shit?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. He doesn’t really want to leave because he doesn’t know how to keep spending time with Pietro without making it some sort of big deal. He keeps both his hands on Pietro.

“How do you feel about ice-skating?”

“What? That’s random. I don’t mind ice-skating. Why?”

“Want to go ice-skating? Ride on the Christmas spirit?”

Bucky thinks for a second that he never wants to do anything else than ice-skating with Pietro. Then, he gets his brain to work again and nods. Pietro nudges him towards the exit and they leave together. They don’t hold hands, but they’re close enough that they could. They’re elbow to elbow in the crowd. Bucky almost hopes that Peggy could see them now, proud of themselves, grinning, a little shyly but still. Report that back to Steve, he thinks. Tell him how I’ve moved on too.

Pietro leads the way. Bucky has no idea if there’s an ice-skating rink nearby, but it seems like Pietro planned this through. They hop into the subway for a couple of stops. It’s not as packed as rush hour but there’s not that much more space. They stand next to each other, holding on the rail.

“Does everyone call you James? I feel like I’m the only one calling you Bucky. Do you mind?” Pietro asks.

Bucky shakes his head. That’s his name after all.

“I remember when I first met you, when you introduced yourself, you said,” Pietro pauses to clear his throat then proceeds to speak with a deeper voice, a weird imitation of Bucky’s tone, “Bucky Barnes, Attorney at Law.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Bucky protests. “I’m also not an attorney. I definitely did not say that.”

“That’s my best American accent for you.”

“Well, that’s a terrible accent.”

“You dazzled me nonetheless, mister IT director.”

Bucky smiles. He doesn’t really remember the first time he met Pietro. It must have been around the time Wanda joined the firm, a couple of years ago. Maybe at some work gathering or something. Bucky wasn’t even married at that point. It feels like it happened to someone else, on a different planet.

Pietro pushes a finger into Bucky’s side, dragging him out of his reverie. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you prefer that people call you James?”

“You can call me Bucky,” he says in a collected voice.

“But you prefer when I call you baby, don’t you?” Pietro goes on with the widest grin.

Bucky hopes to god he’s not blushing. Pietro laughs. Bucky has a lucky escape from that conversation because it’s their stop.

He continues to follow Pietro until they’re at the rink. Pietro insists on paying for the two of them, which makes Bucky believe that this is sort of a date and he doesn’t want to think about that. They can skate as friends, too. Friends do that. Friends might not kiss and call each other pet names but that’s a conversation for another day.

They go in the shed where they get their skates. They sit next to each other, their knees bumping, while they lace it up.

Bucky gets up on uncertain legs and goes into the rink, Pietro close behind him.

“You skated before, baby?” Pietro asks gently, a hand on Bucky’s hip. A warm hand with splayed out fingers.

Bucky turns to look at him. He doesn’t lean into the fleeting touch. He pouts. “I’m a great skater, I’ll have you know.”

“You sure you don’t want me holding your hand the whole way through?”

Bucky scoffs. Pietro’s smile widened. He chuckles to himself before skating faster and further away from Bucky.

He doesn’t need Pietro by his side and he’s very content watching him skate around the rink gracefully. Of course, Pietro would be great at this. He’s picking up speed and Bucky tries to at least keep up behind him. It’s been years since Bucky has found himself standing in skates and he’s fairly rusty.

He tries to go a bit faster but loses his balance and falls backwards, his legs extended, right on his ass. It only takes half a second for the rink employee to skate to him and help him up. It takes even less time for Pietro to turn around and notice.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it off.”

Pietro makes a big show of skating closer in easy, rapid moves and Bucky pushes on his chest as soon as he stands close enough. It only makes Pietro laugh more.

Something catches in Bucky’s eyes. He looks up at the thick clouds in the sky. It’s not raining. It’s snowing. Just his luck. He turns his eyes to Pietro.

“Why is it that every time I see you, it’s snowing?” Bucky grumbles, “are you cursed? Is it like in the cartoons when there’s a black cloud following you around, except for you it’s snow?”

Pietro has a bright laugh. The snow keeps on falling but they stay still for a couple of seconds. Bucky watches it fall from the sky into the rink.

A snowflake disappears into Pietro’s silver hair, melting in. Bucky reaches to catch it between his fingers, but it’s definitely gone.

The irony of the romance of this little moment isn’t lost on Bucky. It almost makes him want to run away, crawl into his bed and never come out again. It’s too much, this could mean something that Bucky isn’t ready to see happening.

Pietro probably doesn’t understand. He just smiles, as openly as always, taking Bucky’s wrist in his hand, rubbing a thumb on the vein there. Bucky cups Pietro’s jaw with his free hand. He pulls Pietro toward him and presses a soft kiss to his mouth. Pietro squeezes his shoulder and skates a step or two further away, chuckling to himself.

“Come on, we’ve still got about fifteen minutes left,” he calls as he starts speeding away. “If you fall on your ass again, I’ll be ready to record it this time.”

Bucky swallows. He follows. Should he do this? Should he indulge in this thing that’s starting to happen with Pietro? After all, Steve has an official girlfriend. He’s moved on, forgotten all about Bucky and the life they’ve shared since they were six years old.

Bucky skates after Pietro. “I’m a decorated veteran,” he grumbles. “I deserve to fall on my ass every now and again and not be threatened by video evidence.”

Pietro laughs and the sound is so sweet to Bucky’s ears. The snow keeps on falling. Both their cheeks redden. Bucky lets Pietro snap a selfie of them wrapped in his thick scarf. Once they’re done, they walk to the subway, their elbows touching, their hands brushing together. Bucky feels warm. He tries to remember what it was like to feel contented, satisfied with his life. Happy, he doesn’t dare to think. That’s as close as he can get, for now, and maybe it’s a good thing.


	5. Holiday Permission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The women in the room finally all collectively shut their traps and Bucky lets himself cool off. 
> 
> Then, a tinny, familiar voice comes off from the phone on the kitchen island, “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to wish all of you a Merry Christmas.” Then, the usual noise of a phone call disconnecting.
> 
> Bucky feels the air leaving his lungs and the blood rush from his face. He feels death embracing him in mortification. He turns to Elisabeth furiously.
> 
> “Do not,” he warns. “Do not say oops right now.”
> 
> She looks like she’s been caught with the murder weapon. “Oh god, oh god,” she repeats in shame.
> 
> “You did not…,” Bucky can’t find his own words. “He heard it all…he heard everything. Did he see…where was the camera?” He’s shaking all over. He’s going to pass out at any second now. “Answer me!”

Flying during the Holidays sucks, it really does. Flying to Indianapolis sucks even more, Bucky knows that much. Flying to Indianapolis for his yearly trip alone is worse.

Alice is picking him up from the airport. He hasn’t seen her in a while. He knows she will let him know that too. He should be happier to see his family. He does love them but the memories of doing everything with Steve are just hard to shake.

As soon as he steps out of the arrivals gate, he’s met with his middle sister’s steel eyes and curled smirk. She has cut her hair in a neat bob. He bets the frizz must be a bitch to deal with. Maybe he should introduce Alice to Pietro.

“Oh my god, is this Heaven? Because I’m sure I’m seeing a ghost right now,” she deadpans.

“Ha-ha. Merry Christmas to you too.”

He drops his bag on the pavement and opens up his arms for her. She’s gotten thinner too. He needs to pay more attention to his sisters.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Get it all out in the car because I bet mom’s got more waiting for me.”

Alice nods. “At least she’s gotten all the tears out of the way before you got here.”

“She’s been crying? About what?”

“You know what.”

Fucking Steve? She can’t miss him that much. “He’s not dead, he’s just in Brooklyn. Or wherever the fuck his girlfriend is. Maybe London. Doesn’t matter. Still very much alive.”

Bucky sits down in the passenger seat after he puts his things away in the trunk. Alice turns the ignition on and Bucky stares at the wonders of rural Indiana.

“You know Beth has dinners with them? She’s up there all the time. Never used to do that when we were married. It’s not like Steve can cook.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve heard it. Beth has been here for a week. She won’t shut up. Mom is seething. She called Steve and tore him a new one.”

“Why? He’s not poisoning her.”

Alice gives him a look.

“What?”

“Mom thinks he’s a bad influence.”

Bucky snorts. “Finally. Fucking menace is what he is. His mom used to think I was the one dragging him into trouble.”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Because of the cheating.”

“Oh,” is all Bucky says.

“Yeah, oh,” Alice grunts. “Since Beth told her they’re really dating now, she won’t even hear his name.”

“He, uh…,” Bucky doesn’t know where to start. “He didn’t start seeing her until the divorce was finalized. She can’t…,” he sighs. “He still cares for you guys. It’s not fair on him either.”

Bucky never believed he’d see the day he would defend Steve kissing Peggy. It’s been six months. He can finally talk about it without crying.

Alice hums but doesn’t say anything else. Bucky lets a minute or so go past before he changes the subject and asks Alice about her job, her boyfriend. It’s not the worst forty minutes he’s spent with his sister. They don’t talk about Bucky’s life because they both know his mom will take care of that plenty.

“And Becca’s really not coming?” He asks just before they park the car in their mom’s driveway.

“Marcus’ parents are twenty minutes away, why would she bother with flying? We’ve seen the baby. We’ll have them all next year.”

“Can’t believe Becca has a baby. She’s a baby herself.”

Alice snorts. “You’re the only baby left in this family, Jaime.”

By the time they’re out of the driveway, his mom has the garage door opened and throws herself in Bucky’s arms.

“My baby!” She screams, her voice a bit hoarse like she’s been crying for a while. “Oh, Jaime, it’s so good to see you!” She lets go to inspect him. “Look at you! What happened to your hair! You’re so skinny too!”

Bucky laughs. “You’ve seen my hair before, ma.”

“Little baby,” Alice comments as she throws his bag on the floor. “Pick up your shit.”

“Alice!” Winnifred Barnes chastises.

“He’s divorced, not made of sugar, ma,” Alice grumbles.

Winnifred puts her hands on her hips. “And why would you remind him of that? On Christmas Eve?”

“Not sure I can forget. Also, we’re Jewish. I’m fine, I swear.”

“It’s also the 23rd,” Alice supplies.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Jaime?” Winnifred says, ignoring Alice.

“Yeah, ma, I’m splendid. I am hungry though.”

Winnifred nods like he’s just given her a life mission. He smiles. He does love coming home, even for a couple of days. All he has to do is not get too hung up on how much of a Steve-shaped hole there is in the house.

*****

As expected, Elisabeth is pretty cold toward Bucky. He lets her be. If she wants to sulk, she’s an adult, she’s free to do so.

The evening of the 23rd, they videocall Becca and her family, coo at the baby that’s now rolling over and crawling, which apparently is impressive for a baby. Bucky doesn’t know any better, so he admires the performance with the rest of his family.

They watch a movie, play cards. No one mentions the S word. Or the divorce. But Bucky hadn’t expected them to jump on him from the first day. What he had dreaded does happen.

That night, when Bucky goes to his room, he’s hit with everything he tried to avoid. He’s on his own, luckily, so no one will know.

This room, in his mom’s house, is not entirely his own. His mom moved to Shelbyville just after Bucky first shipped out. The only times he spent there, he spent with Steve. It’s too easy to close his eyes and let the memory flood through him.

Every morning that Steve woke him up to go for runs. “We can do go anywhere. The forest is like a mile away.” Even though Bucky hates jogging, hates the snow, hates the cold. “Can’t waste half the day sleeping, anyway, can you?” He always had better ideas than sleeping. “In your mother’s house, James Buchanan!”

God, had he loved Steve. He still does, very stupidly. He remembers their time before they were married so fondly. Sure, they had been at war for four years, then Steve had signed up for more and Bucky was at college, but they had the unshakable hope of youth to them. They were just happy to be in each other’s presence. They found solace in each other. It was easy, then. Why did it become so hard? What changed? Bucky remembers Steve’s words. He still doesn’t know. When did a couple of days in a month become not enough? When did it start? When did Steve start to look at Bucky like he couldn’t face him anymore, like he couldn’t bear to be with him too long?

“Let me fix this,” he had pleaded. But it had been too late. Bucky hadn’t let him.

Bucky sighs and buries his face in the many pillows his mom had stuffed on the bed. He almost wishes it’d still smell like Steve’s cheap perfume. In comparison to Pietro’s intricate colognes and essences, Bucky really shouldn’t be able to miss Steve’s scent so much. Which is probably another reason why he should stop seeing Pietro. Not yet. Bucky just needs a little more time. It’s just holiday melancholy. It’s nothing. He’ll get over himself.

*****

Christmas’ Eve is more troublesome. There are so many stupid traditions that Steve and Bucky made up as the years went by and kept on doing as Elisabeth was growing up, because she had become so used to it. Now that Steve isn’t there, it doesn’t feel the same.

“It’s like the year when Sarah died,” Elisabeth mutters when they’re all gathered around the kitchen table, making shortbread cookies to look like each other.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groans.

“James! Elisabeth! What is wrong with you!” Winnifred scowls. “It is Christmas Eve…”

“We’re still Jewish,” Alice says with a shrug. She’s putting a sad face on her cookie of Bucky.

“Yeah, actually, why are we bothering with all this? Don’t we have Hanukkah to worry about?”

“Hanukkah was two weeks ago!” Elisabeth screams back. “It’s just like the year when you both were in Afghanistan. It just sucks.”

“Sorry I couldn’t stop the war quickly enough to be back home on time for Christmas cookies,” he says shaking his little figure with messy hair. “Feel real guilty about that, Beth.”

“You will both,” Winnifred warns as she’s rolling red frosting to put on her Becca cookie, “Stop this behavior. I barely see any of you and you won’t be fighting now. Alright?”

Bucky nods. Elisabeth pouts. “At least, when Steve was here, no one ever argued.”

Alice giggles. Winnifred isn’t amused. “What did I say! I asked for one thing!”

All three of them stare down at their cookie creations. Bucky notices that Beth has left one cookie bald while all the other have brown paste all over the head part. He sighs. Of course, she’d make a Steve cookie.

“Just don’t make a Peggy cookie,” Bucky mumbles. “Or wait till after Christmas, I don’t know.”

His mom sucks in a breath, appalled. “Elisabeth Stanton Barnes! You will not be making home-wrecking figures in my home, do you hear me?”

This is the last straw for Bucky and Alice. They explode in laughter barely holding on the kitchen counters, as they topple over.

“Home-wrecking,” Alice wheezes, “cookies.”

“Don’t let it,” Bucky manages in between breaths. “Don’t let it near the Becca one.”

Even Elisabeth cracks a smile. “Ma, I’m sorry, I wasn’t. It’s Becca, I swear.”

Winnifred lets herself calm down just a little and settles her eyes on her own cookies. Bucky and Alice finally stop giggling like idiots and finish their cookies in silence.

That night, they end up having a good night. Elisabeth is finally warming up to Bucky, letting him pet her hair while they watch TV, even wearing the ugly Christmas sweater he gave her years ago. The mood is improving. No more mentions of Steve nor Peggy. Bucky breathes easier. That’s all he wanted really, a proper family holiday, some time off to relax and enjoy the Barnes’s.

*****

It does all go to shit on Christmas Day, because of course it does.

It starts off not that badly, they all get up in their new Christmas pajamas that they gifted each other. They talk about Becca for a while and how they’re missing the baby’s first Christmas. They video call her with Bucky’s tablet around 11AM and set her up on the living room coffee table, pretending she’s right there with them.

They exchange the usual gag gifts first. Alice got Bucky a set of slippers that says for his and his. It’s obviously a married couple gifts but Alice can’t stop laughing as she explains that it works out because they’ll both be his.

“Managed to make a gay joke and a divorced joke. Neat.”

Winnifred scoffs but lets it go. Bucky got her a full body pillow with Adam Sandler doing a thumbs up print on it. Elisabeth goes through fits of giggles while recording the whole thing.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Winnifred says, genuinely confused, looking down at the face in her lap. “It won’t even fit on the sofa.”

Bucky can’t breathe through fits of wheezing laughter.

But of course, things take a turn because after they’ve called all their distant relatives on their dad’s side to wish them a Merry Christmas. Because now, there is one person everyone is thinking of but won’t mention.

Except for Elisabeth, of course, who doesn’t know how to let one thing lie.

While Bucky is skipping through one the photography books one of the girls got for his mom, half lying down on the sofa, one foot up the arm, one foot on the floor, Alice sits down on the side of the sofa’s arm where Bucky’s head is.

“Heads up, Beth is on FaceTime with Steve,” she says quietly. “Mom is going in with a sandwich in like ten minutes. Collision imminent.”

Bucky inhales and exhales deeply. Why can’t he have one good thing? He doesn’t say anything to Alice. He just hopes Steve won’t say on the line for a whole ten minutes, which is probable, given his track record with digital conversation. In Bucky’s pocket, his phone, where Steve’s number has been blocked for months, feels uneasy.

He tries to be focused on the peaceful various pictures of the earth in front of him. Beth can and should have a relationship with Steve. It is Christmas after all, and she is right to consider him family. In a way, Steve has been a better big brother to her than Bucky has.

Alice slides down onto the floor to look at the pictures with Bucky. She points at one that’s of someplace in Brazil, saying she’d love to go there some day. Bucky hums, ignoring the ticking time bomb about to go off in his head.

Then it all comes crashing down when Bucky hears the shouting match moving into the kitchen. He hears a phone smash into a hard surface, what he expects throwing a phone on the kitchen island would sound like and gestures for Alice to go with him to quiet it down.

He cracks his neck and has a deep sigh when he enters the room.

“Why are you punishing him! Bucky is the one who divorced him!” Elisabeth yells at the top of her lungs.

“I will not hear another word from you!” Winnifred warns.

“He didn’t cheat, ma. They’re divorced and he’s happy. Even Bucky is seeing someone!”

“What?” Both Winnifred and Alice say, suddenly turning to look at Bucky.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who told you this? You talk to Natasha now?”

Elisabeth shakes her head. “Becca told me.”

“Oh, Jaime,” his mother coos. “You’ve got a boyfriend and you didn’t want to tell me?”

“No,” he exhales again. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Which I told Natasha,” he adds pointedly. “Guess that got lost at some point in translation.”

“He’s Jewish too,” Elisabeth soldiers on for no reason. “Ashkenazi, even.”

“Jaime!” Winnifred is beyond herself all of a sudden. “A nice Jewish boy!”

Bucky is so close to giving up. “I don’t have a boyfriend. This is why I don’t tell you anything, by the way. Might as well tell mom from the get go.”

“What? It’s not like I told Steve!” Elisabeth says like it helps anything.

“You’re goddamn lucky you didn’t tell Steve, you idiot. That’s none of his business and to be honest it sure as hell ain’t none of yours.”

“But wait, Becca told Beth that Bucky has a boyfriend and not me? Why?” Alice cuts in.

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” Bucky explodes. “I don’t have a boyfriend because if I did, I would have told all of you, alright? I would have had a goddamn party in the middle of Central Park! But I don’t! I’m pathetic and still not over my fucking divorce and I can’t do it, ok? I have enough to deal with as it is, so if all of you harpies could lay off my love life for one single damn day, I would be very grateful!”

The women in the room finally all collectively shut their traps and Bucky lets himself cool off.

Then, a tinny, familiar voice comes off from the phone on the kitchen island, “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to wish all of you a Merry Christmas.” Then, the usual noise of a phone call disconnecting.

Bucky feels the air leaving his lungs and the blood rush from his face. He feels death embracing him in mortification. He turns to Elisabeth furiously.

“Do not,” he warns. “Do not say oops right now.”

She looks like she’s been caught with the murder weapon. “Oh god, oh god,” she repeats in shame.

“You did not…,” Bucky can’t find his own words. “He heard it all…he heard everything. Did he see…where was the camera?” He’s shaking all over. He’s going to pass out at any second now. “Answer me!”

“He couldn’t, I mean the phone was face down…so just the ceiling. I bet…the connection isn’t great in here so…”

“Beth, just shut up,” Alice advices. “Bucky, if you want to…”

“I’m going out,” he announces more to his mother than anyone else. “I’m taking Alice’s car. Do not call me, I swear to god.”

Then he turns and leaves. No one holds him back.

*****

He doesn’t really know where he’s driving to. There’s not that many attractions in Shelbyville really. He just can’t sit in a house where he embarrassed himself so thoroughly in front of Steve. What if Peggy was there the whole time too?

He groans behind the wheel and manages to speed dial Natasha while he’s at a stop. He feels only a tiny little bit guilty to ruin her Christmas but then remembers that she doesn’t care about this Christmas anyway, being Orthodox, and Clint is probably half drunk on eggnog in front of the TV. It only takes two rings for her to pick up.

“Merry Christmas!” She says cheerfully, completely unaware of course. “How’s Indiana?”

“Merry Christmas,” he grumbles. “It’s cold. Like betrayal.”

“Oh, wow, James, on Christmas Day?”

“Can I know why you thought telling Becca about Pietro made any sense? What good do you think was going to come out of that? I don’t tell her things for a reason.”

Natasha scoffs and Bucky can tell she’s a little hurt. “Yeah, like your divorce.”

Bucky wants to punch something. “I would have told her about that. That’s not the point and you know it. She told Beth who told my mom. So, I had to clarify for the room that I’m afraid of commitment because of my failed marriage, while Steve was on FaceTime.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says on an exhale. “I wasn’t aware of the last part of course.”

Natasha has the decency to not laugh at that. “Jesus Christ.”

“Do you know…,” he’s embarrassed to even ask. “Do you know if he’s spending Christmas with Peggy? Like would she have heard me?”

Natasha hesitates. She’s weighing how much of the truth she can give him. He hates when she does that. “I don’t think they are.”

“So, she definitely heard me is that what you’re saying.”

“Steve is at Sam’s sister house in Virginia. I’m doubting Peggy was invited. Maybe Sam heard you if that makes you feel better.”

He forgot all about Sam. They used to be friends once.

“It does not. But thanks for telling me.”

“Where are you now anyway?”

“Driving aimlessly like I’m in a romcom movie.”

“Avoiding your family and not talking about your issues like you’re sixteen?”

“Also that, probably. Listen, Nat, I know you’re trying your best too, but come on. Why do you think I didn’t say anything about Pietro to Becca?”

There’s a little pause and some shuffling like Natasha is moving rooms. “It could be something, you know. You’re a free man, now. I just thought maybe…of course I was wrong, but I did believe that if Becca knew, it’d give you a push in the right direction.”

It’s so sincere, it breaks Bucky’s heart a little more. His phone starts buzzing. Rebecca is double calling him. He hangs up on her and gets back to Natasha.

“Becca is calling me. You’re not off the hook, by the way.”

She has a small laugh. “Sure. Enjoy your mom’s cooking and bring some cookies back. See you Monday.”

He says goodbye and dials Rebecca again. She picks up almost immediately.

“James, I am so sorry,” she says hurriedly, like she’s waiting for Bucky to cut her off. “If I had had any idea that she would do something like that…I don’t know why she keeps doing this…”

Luckily for her, Bucky has cooled down enough to hear her out. “She’s just a kid. I don’t have to like how she feels about all of this…”

“I will never tell her anything again, I can promise you. I know Nat already broke your trust but Bucky, I swear I just want you to be happy.”

“Well me too, Becs. It sucks, I guess. Who called you, mom, Beth or Alice?”

“All three. With different kind of ugly crying. I’m really sorry, Bucky. You know that right?”

He sighs. “Yeah I know. I could have told you about Pietro. I would have if it was more serious. It’s really not, by the way. It’s been a month and a half. The whole thing is…a mess, honestly.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“I know. I’ll be alright. I’m the man of the house these days, Becs. You can rely on me.”

She scoffs. “Oh, sure. Where are you now anyway?”

“Fuck knows. I guess I’m getting Starbucks. Is it even open today?”

“You’re getting Starbucks on Christmas?”

“Gotta have my spiced pumpkin fix.”

She laughs. “Ok, Bucky. We’re all rooting for you. I want to know that. Even Beth, in her weird way. She probably just misses Steve.”

“It’s fine. I’m not holding it against her. I embarrassed myself, to tell the truth. Maybe Steve heard all the yelling and muted his phone.”

“Yeah. You never know sometimes. Maybe his phone cut off when you said you still loved him. Maybe he’s on the next plane to Indianapolis and he’s going to run all the way to mom’s house to bring you back home.”

She giggles. Bucky groans. “Oh, fuck you. This is why I tell you nothing.”

“You have a good Christmas Starbucks, Bucky. I love you.”

“Love you too, kiss the baby for me.”

“I will. See you soon.”

Rebecca hangs up the phone and another Christmas miracle happens because Starbucks is open. Bucky gets four pumpkin spiced lattes and a couple different muffins. He sets it all in the passenger seat and takes a picture of it. He sends it to Pietro with the caption, _Managing to have the most stereotypically gay and Jewish Christmas of all._

It takes a couple of minutes for Pietro to type back, _Honestly took you for the type of Jew to have roasted ham for Christmas._

Bucky sends back shocked faces emojis. _I might not keep kosher but I still did my reading._

That’s a lie but they’re just bantering. Technically anyway, Bucky is also half catholic. Not that his Nice Jewish _maybe_ Boyfriend™ needs to know.

 _Can u talk?_ Pietro texts next.

Bucky types positively. Pietro video calls him the next second. Bucky wishes his hair looked better. At least he hasn’t been crying. Small mercies.

“Hey, babe, Merry Christmas,” Pietro greets.

He is on his bed, lying on his stomach, his hair a little wet. Is he naked? He’s not wearing anything on top at least. His eyes are so blue, his mouth is bright red. Bucky wants to reach out and get under him.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky mumbles around a mouthful of latte.

“Are you in the car? What are you doing?”

Bucky groans. “I was missing Starbucks.”

“Oh, that bad, huh?”

“My family really loves to remind me they didn’t get who they wanted out of the divorce. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I know all about that,” Pietro muses with a little smile. Bucky feels like an asshole for bringing up both his family and Steve, but Pietro did ask.

“Anyway, how’s New York?”

“Bright. Very loud. The usual.”

Bucky nods. He can’t keep his eyes off the strong muscles in Pietro’s shoulders and arms. Pietro notices how flustered he is and chuckles.

“Think about me all the way in Indiana, baby?”

“Might have crossed my mind.”

“When are you back?”

“Monday. I’m working until New Year’s Eve, though.”

“Anything planned?”

Bucky bites his lower lip as he goes through his very pathetic options; the SHIELD infested party that Nat and Clint are going to, with very high chances of running into Steve and Peggy, or Becca’s college buddies party in Jersey. Technically, they went to college together, so these are also his friends, but it’s still in Jersey.

“Nothing set in stone. Why? You’re going someplace fancy and need some arm candy?”

Pietro smiles, honest and wide. He’s so beautiful. Life isn’t fair. “Something like that. Some fashion people thing. It’s a big party, but not that fancy. Just friends, no press. Want to come with?”

“Sure, I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Come over before, we’ll go together. Be early. I’ve got plans for you.”

“Plans, huh?”

Pietro sets the phone down and sits up on his bed. He is not naked, but Bucky doesn’t miss the smooth ripple of his abs as he moves. Bucky wants to set his teeth in each of them.

Pietro moves his hand toward his tight boxers and Bucky has to remind himself to breathe.

“You alright there, Bucky?”

“I think I’m about to feel a lot better.”

“Aren’t you in a parking lot? You’re feeling like getting arrested in Indiana, on Christmas?”

Bucky sighs. “Anything for you, babe. If you want to give me a show, I’m right here.”

Pietro’s eyes flash darker. “I would like you to come back to New York, though. Don’t know who’d bail you out of that one. Come to my place, on the 31st? I’ll give you something better than a show. How about that?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky says on the exhale. Should he be this flustered from just watching Pietro move?

“Alright. See you then, Bucky. Have a good Christmas. Talk soon.”

“Yeah, bye.”

He disconnects the call quickly and stares at his stupid boner. Well, at least the day got a little better. For a good five minutes, he forgot that Steve heard about how pathetic Bucky really is. All he hopes is that Steve isn’t having the same kind of conversation with Peggy naked on FaceTime. He hopes all he gets today is Sam’s nerdy jokes.

*****

Bucky waits until he’s finished his cup of pitiful Christmas latte before he drives back to his mother’s house. It feels miserable. It feels like the stupidest situation he’s ever found himself in. He’s right to be angry, he knows that much, but he can’t let this moronic accident ruin the little time he spends with his family.

He goes back in silence. He thinks about avoiding the living room for now but that’s underestimating his mother. Winnifred waits at the doorframe and gasps a little when she sees him. Bucky doesn’t fight her. He opens his arms and lets her hold on to him.

“Jaime, my darling baby,” she says softly. “It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

Bucky hugs her just as tightly. He feels both Alice and Elisabeth wrap around him too. He swallows whatever he’s got leftover of his anger and lets himself be held for a second.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Elisabeth whispers by his ear. She holds on to his neck and presses a kiss on his forehead, reaching on her tiptoes. “I am really sorry. Please forgive me?”

Bucky exhales and reaches out to take her closer to him. He’s never been close to his youngest sister. He’s never tried with her. He feels a rush of guilt in his chest. For all she behaves so selfishly, who is he to judge her immaturity? She’s twenty-three years old. She probably has no memories of her own father. And Bucky only mocked her for looking up to Steve as some deranged father figure. She probably looks at Bucky like a more precise but even more deranged father figure. He failed her.

“Of course. I’m sorry too, Beth. I should have told you about the divorce. You too, Alice. It’s just been a tough year.”

“It’s ok, Bucky,” Alice says on his other side. She holds his shoulders tightly. “We know. We’re there for you too.”

He lets go a bit to look at all three of them. They all look so similar and so different at the same time. Winnifred, in the middle, is the smallest and oldest, with deep wrinkles on the sides of her bright blue eyes. Alice, who is the tallest and thinnest, has a tight smile and a frown on her smooth forehead. She has the same nose, lips and sharp jaw as her mother, just like Bucky does. Elisabeth looks just like Rebecca, both of them resembling their father more in their smiles, the shape of their eyes and their round faces.

He doesn’t know if it was his time in the army, time away, that broke whatever relationship he had with his family, or if it was him that pushed them away. He regrets it deeply now. All he can see on their kind faces is love and care. Forgiveness. A real Christmas miracle.

“That’s enough feelings for a whole year now, right?” He asks to no one with a voice too thick with emotion. “Want to watch some sappy movies and cry about that instead?”

Winnifred nods, wiping away at her eyes. She turns away quickly to get to the TV. She puts the hallmark channel on with a bright smile and sits down on the couch.

“Come, come, kids. This is just like when you were all little and actually enjoyed spending time with me.”

“Oh, ma,” Alice sighs, “I love spending time with you. I’m not like the rest of your ungrateful children.”

She follows Winnifred to the couch and plops down next to her. She wraps an arm around her mother’s shoulders and presses a kiss on the crown of her head. Winnifred finally giggles a little. Bucky feels terrible to realize it’s probably one of the only times he’s heard her laugh since he got there.

Elisabeth doesn’t follow them. She looks up at Bucky shyly. “I shouldn’t have called Steve. I wasn’t thinking…,” she’s talking quietly, like she’s on the verge of crying and is holding on to nothing, “I just wanted you two to…I don’t even know. It’s stupid. I just missed him.”

“I get it,” Bucky says just as quietly. “Tell you something? I miss him too. It’s just better that way. You don’t have to understand my decision, but I hope you can respect it.”

“Yeah, Bucky,” she says and jumps back into his arms. “Are we good?”

He pets her hair gently, bringing her close. “Yeah, we’re fine, Liz. You’re my baby sister, of course we’re fine. Let’s watch mom’s shitty hallmark movies. Come on.”

*****

The evening of the 25th of December is spent quietly. On the 26th, they all go out to the closest hill with the sleds they’ve had for what feels is decades. Winnifred takes an insane amount of blurry pictures. They get hot chocolates and pastries in the town’s bakery. When the 27th comes, Bucky is almost sorry to leave. He promises his mother that he’ll try and visit more on the next year. He invites Alice to come to Brooklyn whenever. She smiles, saying that he should visit Chicago instead, since he’s not the one becoming a surgeon, and he shudders.

He gets back to Bed-Stuy, to Natasha and Clint and their playful affection. They make fun of him for the phone call, for going out on New Year’s Eve with Pietro. Everything is back to normal, but Bucky feels lighter. Like he’s looking up and the sky has finally been cleared out. He can breathe a little easier. He texts the family group chat a bit more actively. That’s another time that he feels like he’s getting to some place.

New Year’s Eve falls on a Thursday this year. Bucky takes the day off, to no end of Natasha’s amusement. Clint, blessed be the lord, has enough compassion to be encouraging.

“I think it’s fine that you want to spend a whole day to get your outfit ready, Barnes,” Clint says patiently, his feet up on the coffee table, his dog rummaging around the living room. He calls her over with a whistle. “Right, Lucky? Good girl.”

“I’m not spending the whole day on my outfit,” Bucky grumbles around a mouthful of cereal. It’s too early to get roasted. They should establish rules.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Natasha piles on, “the afternoon is just for his hair.”

“I hate you both so much. My resolution this year is to get new friends.”

“Yeah?” Clint sniggers. “How about new roommates?”

Natasha snakes an arm around Bucky’s neck as she passes by him. “Clint!” she exclaims quickly, “You keep your stray and I keep mine. We have a deal.”

Clint barks out a laugh and gets up. “Alright, don’t burn the house while I’m walking the dog. Good luck with your boyfriend’s party.”

“I will be there when you get back. It’s seven in the morning. Also, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever!” Clint calls as he exits the condo.

*****

Bucky doesn’t spend the whole day on his outfit or his hair. He even takes a nap because he has so much time left over before the party. He does leave before Natasha gets back from work because he expects the journey to TriBeCa will be a nightmare. He gets to Pietro’s apartment just after six.

Surprisingly, Pietro isn’t even dressed. He’s topless when he opens the door, with sweatpants on, riding low on his hips, the white elastic band of his underwear peering out into his chiseled abs. Bucky forces his mouth to stay closed.

“Baby, hey,” Pietro says with his warm voice. Bucky had no idea he had missed him so much. “Good to see you.”

He wraps Bucky into a loose hug and kisses his cheek softly.

“You too,” Bucky stammers. “You’re going like this?”

Pietro smirks. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“What if I would?” Bucky replies as sultrily as he can manage. It probably doesn’t sound that seductive because Pietro just laughs.

“Come on in, I just woke up. There’s food if you want.”

“No, I’m fine…What do you mean you just woke up?”

“Oh yeah,” Pietro says around a thick yawn. “I went out last night. New Year’s Eve’s Eve or something. I don’t know. I didn’t sleep until around…Maybe noon? It was a good night.”

Bucky nods silently. They haven’t said anything about seeing other people. Bucky hasn’t slept with anyone else, _yet_ , but there’s a certain tightness in his chest that he feels when he thinks about Pietro with other people. Pietro’s not his. They hang out. Pietro calls him baby a lot but maybe that’s just what he does. With everyone. Bucky just wishes he’d be more special. He doesn’t dare to ask.

He doesn’t have time either, because as soon as the bedroom door is closed behind him, Pietro is on him, pressing him against the wall, pushing his whole body as close to Bucky’s as he can. Pietro has his two forearms on the sides of Bucky’s head. He’s grinning like he just caught a rare fish.

“Come here often?” Pietro rasps. “Sure, I’d have notice a pretty face like yours around these parts.”

Bucky sniggers, grabbing on to Pietro’s waist just as tightly. “Oh yeah, you think I’m pretty?”

Pietro grinds on him as much as he can manage without pulling away too much. His cotton sweatpants don’t leave much to the imagination. Bucky moves to kiss him. Pietro grabs a hold of his hair with one hand and cups Bucky’s jaw with the other. There’s no tenderness, no gentle caress in Pietro’s kissing. It’s rough and demanding. Pietro has places to be, apparently.

Pietro rids Bucky of his sweater in an instant and is back to ruining him with his mouth, his agile hands and his despairing hips. Bucky moans into Pietro’s open mouth.

“Thought you had some plans for me,” he manages to say quietly against Pietro’s lips. It’s hard to focus when they’re standing like this. “Did those plans not even include the bed?”

“Oh no, baby,” Pietro says against his neck, “those are my plans for the after party. Everything in good time.”

He unbuttons Bucky’s trousers with one hand, the other running freely on Bucky’s chest. He sinks to his knees and well, Bucky can’t really object to that kind of plans.

*****

When Bucky opens his eyes again, he realizes that he dozed off. Pietro did too, he’s still very much asleep, curled up on his side, his back to Bucky, his breathing even and slow. Bucky traces the outline of his spine with two fingers. Pietro is also still naked. Bucky reaches for his phone to check the time. It’s almost 9PM. He pushes on Pietro’s back with more force.

“Pietro, baby, wake up,” he urges. “What time’s your party?”

Pietro makes a sound that is almost completely swallowed by a pillow. Bucky shakes his shoulder. “Babe,” Bucky presses again.

“It’s fine,” Pietro grunts. “We’ll get there when we get there.”

Pietro rolls to lie on his back. Like this, he looks so young. Bucky knows that Pietro is younger but lying there, naked, his pale chest completely bare, the moonlight coming in from the window hitting his skin just right, he really doesn’t know how much younger. He pushes on his shoulder with his whole hand.

“How old are you, anyway?” Bucky asks suddenly.

“What?”

“I never asked you. I know your birthday, but I don’t know your age.”

Pietro nods, his eyes still closed. “I don’t know how old you are either. I’m 27.”

Bucky cringes a little. Seven years is not that big of a gap nowadays is it? That makes Pietro the same age as Alice. At least he’s older than Elisabeth.

“How old do you think I am?” Bucky tried to sound smooth and detached.

Pietro opens and narrows his eyes at him, like he’s considering every wrinkle on Bucky’s face. Bucky bends his head a little, chewing on his bottom lip. God, he feels so stupid all of a sudden.

“I know you’re older than me. Are you secretly really into Botox and actually a ninety-year-old?”

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Bucky says mildly, “I’m 34. I’m not old.”

Pietro runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. “Well you’re definitely not balding. That’s not so bad for an older gentleman.”

Bucky pushes his shoulder. “Fuck off.”

“My little old man,” Pietro goes on wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and bringing him back down and closer to him. He presses a kiss at the crown of Bucky’s head. Bucky doesn’t melt against him because he’s got himself under control these days.

“Yeah, well, back in my day, people cared about punctuality.”

Pietro snorts. He slides his hand down Bucky’s stomach, following his hipbone down to his groin. Bucky swallows.

“You still care about being on time now?” Pietro says quietly against his ear.

And who could blame Bucky for being a little late? It’s not like he knows anyone there except for Wanda. She can forgive him.

*****

They manage to get to the party for just before eleven. It’s nowhere as big as the first party Pietro took Bucky to but it’s still nothing like an intimate party with friends. There must be about five hundred people there. It’s like a giant warehouse that opens into a long terrace with what must be the best view of Manhattan Bucky has ever seen.

Pietro seems to know basically everyone. Bucky loses count of how many people come up to them to greet them. Pietro keeps introducing him, but Bucky can barely hear anything over the loud bass of the music. He just nods at whoever is looking at them. He feels very exclusive. He bets Pietro doesn’t bring just anyone to his parties. He hopes at least.

It’s getting closer to midnight and Bucky has to catch up on his drinking. He gets a couple of cocktails from the bar that is apparently an open, free bar. For the whole night. The hell. Fashion people really do live the life. He finds Pietro easily, talking to some guy excitedly. Bucky notices the guy slipping something in Pietro’s hand. Pietro gives him a half hug and pats his back. He turns to Bucky with a grin after the guy leave. He holds the minuscule zip bag.

“What do you feel about that?” Pietro says loudly into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky looks at the bag with narrow eyes. He’s not that innocent. He can tell very clearly that it’s ecstasy. He’s done it before too, when he was younger, when he was going out with Natasha and her law school friends. Very ironic, in a way. But he hasn’t done that in years.

He frowns at Pietro.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Pietro goes on, “I’ll fuck you just as good as I always do.”

Pietro plops one pill on his tongue. Bucky stares at it. He swallows.

“Alright,” he yells right back. “But just one.”

Pietro nods and grabs the back of Bucky’s neck, bringing him forward and crashing their mouths together. He can barely taste the pill as Pietro slips it right down his throat. Bucky feels like he’s just been set on fire. It’s definitely not the E. It might just be how sinful Pietro looks. How he could be one of those temptation demons from the bible.

They pull apart and Pietro beams at him. He strokes Bucky’s cheek. He takes the glass from Bucky’s hand, puts another pill in his mouth and downs the cocktail in one thick gulp. Bucky stares at his throat, remembering how well Pietro can swallow. He feels mesmerized by that pale line of skin. 

“Let’s get some more drinks!” he shouts, still so close that he’s basically talking into Bucky’s skin. “I think Wanda’s on the other side!”

Bucky follows him. They get some other drinks. Bucky starts to feel warm all over. Fuzzy, almost. He feels great. They find Wanda, on the terrace. She’s got flowers in her hair and Bucky reaches out without thinking.

Dammit, he’s high as fuck already.

“Your hair is so pretty,” he coos anyway, arranging the crown back on Wanda’s head.

Pietro and Wanda burst out laughing in sync. Bucky laughs too, finding the whole situation suddenly hilarious. Pietro kisses him and Bucky feels it in every bone of his body. Behind them or around them or somewhere, the music has started to get louder. Everyone is screaming. Bucky’s fingertips are vibrating. He’s so glad he’s here. Here, in Pietro’s strong arms, with Wanda. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“10! 9! 8!” the speakers are shouting. Oh, yeah, the new year! What a great time to celebrate the passing of time. Bucky has never heard a better idea.

Bucky disentangles himself from Pietro. He jumps along the crowd. Wanda joins him with double his enthusiasm. She’s probably just as high as he is. Pietro, who now has got sunglasses on and a cigarette in his mouth, takes his phone and records them. Wanda dances alongside Bucky. They scream whatever song lyric is playing with the countdown.

“3! 2! 1!” they finally announce.

“Happy New Year!” Bucky, Wanda and Pietro collectively scream at each other.

Some girls pop out of nowhere and grab Wanda. She presses a loud kiss into Bucky’s cheek before she waves goodbye as she saunters off into the crowd. Bucky waves right back. He keeps on dancing by himself. He’s not really by himself, given how full the terrace is, everyone bouncing to the same thrilling house music. Bucky can feel the notes in his stomach, shaking his insides

Pietro puts hand on Bucky’s back. “Let’s go sit down, baby. Get some water, alright?”

Bucky nods. Water would be great, actually. Bucky can’t believe how considerate and caring Pietro is. He follows Pietro towards some stairs. Pietro steadies him, helps him up. The music is less loud up there. Bucky is still thumping. Pietro beams at him. They sit down on the world’s most comfortable mattress covered bench. Bucky strokes the fabric with his fingers. This is such a fancy place.

“How’re feeling?” Pietro asks.

“Amazing,” Bucky says immediately. “I’ve done this before, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Ok. Good. Have some more water.”

Pietro manifests a bottle out of thin air apparently, because Bucky hadn’t noticed him carrying it the whole way. Once Bucky finishes it, Pietro holds out his hand. Bucky gives him his. Pietro squeezes gently. “I like you, Bucky. I’ve never been in a relationship before, you know. An actual one. I don’t know what to do with you.”

This is hardly party conservation material. Bucky shrugs. He shuffles in closer to Pietro. He takes Pietro’s chin in his hand and turns him gently towards him. Pietro’s eyes are so pale, they’re almost grey. Maybe it’s the hair. Bucky wants to ruin him. See those pearly greys turn so dark in desire.

“Relationships are stupid. You can trust me on this.”

Pietro chuckles, turning his head again to have a sip of his beer. That goddamn mouth. Bucky can’t wait to feel these lips wrap around his dick again.

“You got a divorce so you’re the expert on romance?”

“Yeah, I am,” Bucky says smugly. “I tell you something. We have fun together, right? What’s the point in spoiling all the fun with some stupid rules? That’s all a relationship is. Just rules. You can do this, can’t do that. Let’s just have fun. We don’t have to care about anything else.”

Pietro nods. “You’re having fun with me, huh?”

Bucky reaches out to grab the back of Pietro’s neck and pulls him closer. Their lips are just inches away. “Yeah, babe. So much,” he kisses him. Pietro parts his lips just a bit, letting Bucky in quickly. “Fun. You’re great. So great.” He bites Pietro’s lower lip gently. “You’re just so,” he bends his head to find the shell of Pietro’s ear and licks it. “So hot.”

Pietro laughs. Bucky loves that sound. Pietro says gently, “Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Pietro’s eyes turn so dark. For someone with eyes this pale and blue, it really shouldn’t be possible. Bucky craves this. That feeling of desire he’s able to instill in Pietro. He wants to carve that look into his skin. He wants so much.

He knows, in a desperate way, that he shouldn’t allow himself to have this. To take this from Pietro. The papers mean nothing. Just because he’s divorced doesn’t mean he’s free. What Bucky can read in Pietro’s eyes, he knows that Pietro won’t see it in his. But Bucky wants to be selfish, just a little more. Steve made his relationship official. He gave that to Peggy. Bucky can’t. He won’t. Steve is so moral, but Bucky is flesh and bone. He almost hates himself for it. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow, he’ll deal with the guilt. Tonight, he can have this.

*****

When Bucky wakes up, he feels every single one of his years. So, that’s why he doesn’t do drugs anymore. He feels like his throat is made of dry, recycled paper and he broke every single one of his bones. Luckily, Pietro is in much better shape than Bucky is. He brings him breakfast in bed, massages his aching shoulders, and doesn’t even kick him out.

Bucky sends a text to Natasha, letting her know he’s still at Pietro’s and wishing her a happy new year. He also tells her he’s never moving again because he’s now transformed into a pile of blob. He wonders if her party was anywhere as good as the one Pietro took him to. He doesn’t wait for her to reply and locks his phone.

Pietro lets Bucky shower and borrow clothes before he plops back into the bed like the useless human residue he is. Pietro orders burritos and Bucky could cry of happiness. Wanda doesn’t come out of her room much. Bucky expects her to nurse a hangover just as bad as his.

Bucky thinks about leaving when it’s almost 11 at night, but Pietro puts a movie on his laptop and tells him he doesn’t mind if he stays around again.

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, I’ve got nowhere to be,” Pietro assures.

It’s enough reassurance for Bucky. He falls asleep on Pietro’s chest and hopes to every angel in the heavens that he didn’t drool all over him.

*****

The next day, Bucky feels pretty much recovered. Luckily, Pietro doesn’t give him any shit about being a lightweight or being old as balls. Pietro makes him and Wanda some hipster version of porridge for breakfast and they sit around the dinner table together, talking about the latest sci-fi shows out. Bucky can’t believe Wanda loves space as much as he does. He is almost starting to think he could get used to this.

“One sec, Nat’s calling,” Bucky says before he slides the screen to answer. “Hey, Nat.”

“Are you dead?!” Natasha’s shrill angry voice greets him.

“No, sadly, still very much alive,” Bucky grumbles through a mouthful of porridge. He throws a thumbs up Pietro’s way and moves to sit on the couch with his bowl. “Not by lack of trying. My liver is probably half dead if I’m honest.”

“Where are you?” Natasha goes on, sounding upset.

“I’m at Pietro’s, I told you. I’m fine.”

“Pietro, who’s not your boyfriend? That Pietro?”

Bucky rolls his eyes even though Natasha won’t see him. “Yes, that Pietro. There’s only one.”

“Pietro, not your boyfriend, is letting you stay over two days with him. Very cute.”

“I did text you,” Bucky protests, “you miss me already?”

“Nah. I’d gladly let Pietro keep you. Just tell me…”

“What?”

“Do you cuddle at night? Do you wear his pajamas?”

“I’m hanging up now, Nat. Happy New Year.”

“Uh, huh,” is all Bucky hears before he disconnects the call.

The rest of the day is spent just lounging around, watching TV, and eating too much junk food. It’s a lot quieter than Natasha and Clint’s apartment. Bucky feels himself unwinding, relaxing. Pietro doesn’t ask anything of him, maybe he really can do this. Maybe it’s not that complicated. Maybe some things can be simple.

He stays another night at Pietro’s, because tomorrow is Sunday and what the hell else does he have to do on Sunday? He doesn’t even think twice before he says yes.

*****

Bucky wakes up and he can’t move. He’s strapped down in a chair. There’s no light. He can’t see anything. Two beady, spectacled eyes stare at him. He knows these eyes. Somehow, he can’t name the person. His fists clenches but he can’t throw a punch, his arms won’t move forward. He screams. He howls, he uses all the strength in his upper body to throw himself off, to get free.

“Bucky!” someone yells beside him. “Wake up!” the voice goes on.

Bucky is motionless. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. He can barely move his head.

“Bucky, hey, Bucky,” the voice is quieter now.

The eyes stare on. Bucky can’t look away. He wants to grasp the throat there, crush the windpipe, pull out his trachea with his teeth. He knows this face too well. He wishes he had never met this man. He wishes he were safe, in Brooklyn, with Steve…

“Bucky, wake up, come on…”

Bucky blinks a couple of times. The light blinds him. Zola isn’t there. He’s not in a lab. He’s in Pietro’s bed. He’s got a hand holding Pietro’s forearm so tight, the skin there has already reddened. He lets go, one finger after the other. He’s drenched in his own sweat.

“Fuck, Pietro, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I, uh. God, this is…”

“It’s…,” Pietro swallows, “I never…Are you ok? Does this happen to you a lot?”

Bucky closes his eyes again. He needs to get out of here. This is unfair on Pietro. After all, they don’t owe each other anything. Of all people he could put his issues from the war onto, it had to be Pietro. He hasn’t even had a nightmare like that in months.

Pietro lays a hand on his chest, pushing lightly. Bucky reluctantly looks up at him. He’s holding a glass of water for him. Bucky takes it and drinks it in one gulp. His face is wet with sweat. What a sight he must make.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You’re ok, Bucky. It’s…Obviously, it’s not fine but it’s…”

“Don’t say it,” Bucky manages to grit out. “I just…I need some air.”

Luckily, Pietro has a balcony by his bedroom, so Bucky doesn’t have to go far. He crawls out from under the cover that are almost glued to him. He tries to steady his breathing but can’t manage it on his own.

“Mind if I borrow a cigarette?” he stammers.

Pietro watches him, with slight concern. He doesn’t say anything but hands his pack. Bucky nods his gratitude and heads outside.

He sits against the cold stone, straightening his back against the wall. The air is sharp. It’s not snowing but it might as well be. He lights the cigarette with a shaky hand. He can’t feel his fingers. He inhales the smoke and blows it out. It helps remembering to take small, measured breath. He’s not panicking. He can calm himself down on his own.

The door of the balcony opens behind him. Bucky hopes he looks better than he feels. Great way to seduce someone, have a meltdown in his bed at 3AM on a Saturday night.

“Didn’t want you to get cold,” Pietro says. Bucky curls in on himself. He only feels Pietro dropping the blanket on his shoulders. He wraps it around himself. “Do you want company?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies with an exhale of the smoke.

Pietro drops down next to him. “Mind this?” he asks, joining Bucky under the covers.

Bucky doesn’t move. Pietro then finds a comfortable position, shielding himself from the wind as well as he can manage with half the blanket. Bucky hears the faint clipping of a lighter turning on. Pietro breathes out some more smoke. The air is getting hotter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I like…I like hearing you talk,” Bucky mumbles, his face still pressed against his own knee, facing away from Pietro.

Pietro runs a hand from Bucky’s neck to the top of his skull, petting his hair there reassuringly. Bucky swallows around his mortification.

“Let me tell you an embarrassing story so that you can think we’re even, alright?”

Bucky has a ghost of a smile on his lips. Pietro’s hand keeps on stroking.

“I don’t know if you remember the first time that I met you. Wanda’s first day at the firm?”

Bucky shakes his head faintly again.

“Yeah, I didn’t leave a lasting impression.” Pietro pauses to take another drag of the cigarette. Bucky hears the sharp intake of breath and remembers to exhale. “You know Wanda, for how close we are, she’s the opposite of me. She’ll never talk about what she can do, how smart she is. She’s so reserved. I think, sometimes, that she’s not sure she believes it herself.”

There’s something about the way that Pietro talks about his sister. His voice is warm and fond. Bucky can just focus on the affection there, on the unabashed admiration that Pietro holds for Wanda. It’s soothing in a strange way. The patience that Pietro gives him is not something Bucky is very used to. He wishes nothing than be able to offer it back to Pietro.

“So, it’s her first day and I know from the moment she wakes up that day that she’s bursting at the seams, right? She’s so nervous, she can’t stand still. I tell her I’ll come meet her for lunch, help her out with the awkwardness, I don’t know, just something for her to look forward to.”

Pietro stubs out his own cigarette in the ashtray. He takes his hand off Bucky’s head. Bucky finally looks up, with a slight frown. Pietro smiles and puts his hand back where it was. Bucky turns his head again, staring into the distance, into the Manhattan skyline.

“I get there and it’s just full of pretentious assholes. Typical New York lawyers bullshit. I work with many pretentious assholes myself, so it doesn’t deter me, but I know what Wanda’s like. She takes things too personally, like it’s her fault some douchebag doesn’t have basic decency. I knew already she was having the worst day.”

Pietro never stops calmly massaging Bucky’s scalp. Bucky feels boneless, weightless, hanging between worlds. Nothing makes sense but the world lives here, on this balcony, in their half embrace, underneath the blanket.

“She really was, by the way. I get to her office and there’s stacks of papers on her table, she’s looking everywhere for a laptop plug, she’s very close to tears. There’s nothing I can do really so I just stand there. Some stuck-up lady comes in with this tailored suit, doesn’t even look at Wanda and dumps some more file on the desk. She tells her, I’ll need this by five. Wanda doesn’t even move. I know what she’s already thinking, she’s already believing that she can’t do this, she’s not made for this. It broke my fucking heart, you know. I watched her put herself through college, working her ass off and now, these people are treating her like she’s nothing else but the help, not even worth a look in the eye. I was so close to losing it, tearing it all down so she wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. You know what happened then?”

“What happened then?” Bucky says quietly.

“In came Bucky Barnes, IT Director.”

Bucky has a small laugh that stays half stuck in his throat.

“You came in, you introduced yourself. You shook Wanda’s hands. You _apologized_ for the delay in setting up her laptop. I couldn’t do anything else but stare at you. You were so kind, so patient. You plugged the laptop, you asked her about her day, you welcomed her.” Pietro has a little chuckle. “Didn’t help that you looked hot as hell in that fancy suit of yours. You had long hair then, do you remember? Parted on the front, with almost bangs, so straight too. Did you straighten it, back then?”

“No,” he lies. He remembers that haircut. He was growing out at the time. He can’t believe Pietro remembers that much though.

“Anyway, it suited you. We didn’t really talk much but I couldn’t get you out of my head. In a place where everyone acts like they’re so superior, where no one smiles, you just were yourself. You’re a good man, Bucky. Guess that’s what I always liked about you.”

Somehow, somewhere, Bucky finds the strength to turn around and face Pietro’s eyes. Pietro is leaning on the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, one of his hand holding the blanket tightly around him, the other in Bucky’s hair. He’s smiling, if barely, his eyes steady and calm. Bucky nudges closer to him.

“So, what you’re saying is you had a crush on me for years?”

Pietro laughs, really laughs. It’s the best sound Bucky’s heard in a while. He smiles too.

“Yeah, basically. Much more embarrassing than what just happened. I’ve got no noble excuse, like fighting for my country. I just thought you were adorable.”

“I was an elite sniper,” Bucky counteracts, “not sure I’ve ever been described as adorable.”

“Well,” Pietro says with a shrug, “first time for everything.”

Bucky extirpates himself from his own knees and wraps Pietro’s arms around his own shoulders, settling his back in against Pietro’s chest. They both look in the same direction, silent for a while. Pietro takes another cigarette out and lights it.

“The real embarrassing thing, though,” Pietro stars with an inhale of the cigarette, “is a couple weeks after I met you. There was this work barbecue thing. It was the summer. Must have been 2017, around then.”

Bucky nods. He remembers that barbecue. There had been a couple more paralegals and first year associates hired that year and things had been good, so they had multiple staff outings in the summer. He remembers that’s how Natasha took a liking to Wanda and Pietro.

He also remembers following her around like a lost puppy, like he always did in these sorts of events. He never was as charismatic as Natasha. He’s never felt that comfortable in situation like these. Once again, he’s surprised Pietro even remembers that Bucky had attended the party.

“Steve was there too,” Pietro continues.

Bucky stays silent. He doesn’t move. He hopes it’s not weird for Pietro to talk about Bucky’s ex-husband. He’s never once mentioned it in front of Pietro.

Pietro seems unaffected enough. He goes on, “and, this is going to sound so stupid but when I saw the two of you together that day, it was like you both couldn’t believe you were standing in each other’s presence. Like you couldn’t believe your luck. I thought, I hope one day I get to feel like this.”

“Well, we did get a divorce, so I hope you never do,” Bucky tries to make his voice light and to sound like he’s making a joke. Pietro doesn’t really react. Everything is getting so heavy around them, the night sky, the cold air, the atmosphere. Bucky clears his throat, “you never been in love before?”

“No, can’t say I have. Hasn’t happened for me yet.”

Bucky blows all the breath in his lungs. The silence settles again. Pietro is the one that breaks it again.

“I’ve never asked this, and you don’t have to give me answer, but can I ask what happened? It’s just that it all seemed so perfect, from an outsider’s point of view.”

That’s the thing, though, Bucky still has no idea. He wraps himself in the blanket with both his hands, bringing Pietro closer to him. Maybe this is too intimate. Maybe they shouldn’t talk like that. Bucky feels so exposed, torn open. Maybe this is good too, maybe this is him moving on.

“It’s hard to explain,” he says after a second or so.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Pietro offers immediately.

“No, that’s not…It’s just difficult. I don’t want to bore you with my problems. I’ve taken enough of the night with my bullshit…”

“Bucky, come on, this isn’t bullshit. You’re fine,” Pietro says, rubbing Bucky’s stomach, “I’m listening. I’m the one who asked.”

Bucky takes another breath. “I was a prisoner of war. Twice, technically. I…First time I was captured, it wasn’t that bad. I mean, as good as being a POW can be. Steve was…Steve got me out. He broke the chain of command and he went ahead and walked all the way to the POW camp and got me out. He got captain stripes out of it, so I guess it was worth it in the end.”

Pietro doesn’t interrupt. Bucky takes that as a sign that he’s not wondering what this has to do with his divorce.

“I could have gone home. I could have gotten an honorable discharge, but I didn’t even think about it. How could I leave him on the front, with no one to watch his back? At this point, we had been together for years already, but I was maybe 20 and he was 19. We were so dumb. We thought no one could stop us. They made us into this special unit. Sam was with us, too, you’ve met him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It was all about destroying the cells of terrorists that had taken me. They were real bastards, neo-Nazi ideology bullshit. It felt right, like we were achieving something good. But the blood…So much death. My kill count is high. I’m not proud of that, no matter how you put it, it’s still my hands that pulled the trigger and took a life.”

“Better Nazi sons of bitches than you,” Pietro says quietly.

“That’s what I tell myself most days too. Sometimes it helps. Some days, it’s still in my head, like tonight…The second time I was taken, I fell off this train…Not everyone realizes but there’s some pretty high peaks in Afghanistan. We were high up and this bomb goes off, blows the side of the freight car. I’m hanging off the rail and Steve…He just watched me fall. I made it, obviously, but no one knew. I was declared KIA.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” Pietro breathes out.

“I’ve never even told Nat this. I never talk about this…I was taken, by them. Hydra, they call themselves. For a year, they tried all sorts of shit on me, half of it I can’t even remember. Steve was the one who found me. Again. After that, I was done. I could have retired anywhere, just raising goats or planting corn. I just wanted to be as far from everything as possible.”

Bucky takes a minute to catch his breath. Pietro’s hand stills on Bucky’s stomach.

“Is that what happened? Steve wanted you to go back in?” Pietro asks, his voice shaking just a touch.

“Oh, god no. Steve would never ask something like that from me. It was just…For him, it got so personal, because of me. He’s very single-minded. He couldn’t imagine hanging back while there was still work to be done. I know he blamed himself for me too. Sometimes, I’d catch him looking at me like I was so close to falling apart. Sometimes, I couldn’t take it, I would just leave. Walk around Brooklyn for a day and a night, just to avoid him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Bucky shrugs against his chest. “I guess that it just became a habit. Avoiding each other when we were going through shit. He started taking on all these missions, all these classified ops that he’d say I could know nothing about, even though I knew perfectly what it was about. We would never talk. I’d see him maybe three or four weeks out of a year. We got married just to make each other believe we still wanted this. It was stupid. I only realize it now.”

Pietro puts off the cigarette and that’s the only thing that makes Bucky realize that time is still passing by. He inhales and exhales, grounding himself in his own body.

“One day, I woke up and I just felt so sick of it. I just thought, why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this? I lived alone, basically. There was no point in continuing this…It was like being married to a ghost. It was so strange. It took me months to talk about it with Nat, she was the one to convince me to…She said, ‘consider my options’, she meant divorce. I thought about it for weeks and weeks. Then, I asked her to write it. Rest is history, I guess.”

“What about now? How do you feel now?”

Bucky hears all the questions Pietro isn’t asking. Is it different with me? What do you think about this thing we have? Does it mean anything? Am I a distraction?

“I haven’t talked to Steve since we sold the condo,” Bucky admits guiltily. He won’t touch the rest of the problems he’s starting to accumulate. “In my whole life, since I was six years old, I never spent this long without talking to him. It’s been six months. I’m still here. Never thought I could do this.”

“You’re stronger than you think you are, Bucky,” Pietro says against his ear. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I’m also an asshole,” Bucky replies, turning his face to hide in the crook of Pietro’s neck. “I’ve been making you sit outside in _January_ , in _New York_ , for _hours_.”

“More like twenty minutes but sure, you’re the worst,” Pietro smiles, his lips against Bucky’s temple. “An awful, awful man. But also, _adorable_.”

Bucky laughs then shivers. It’s odd, the way all the feeling in his body is suddenly coming back. He feels so cold, the dampness of his t-shirt clinging to his skin.

“Want to get back in, baby?” Pietro says softly.

Bucky is glad to hear him say it again. He presses a kiss on Pietro’s neck and nods his agreement. “I need a shower too.”

“Yeah, come on. You can be as much as a pain in the ass as you want but you’ll at least smell good.”

Pietro gets up first. He wraps up Bucky in the blanket and ruffles his hair, whispering another ‘adorable’, before heading back in. Bucky doesn’t move for another couple of seconds. He lets himself feel this. The quiet buzz of the city below. He empties his lungs once, twice, staring ahead.

New Year, then. New life ahead. Bucky looks at the city skyline. New York looks just the same, a comforting background. Some things change, some things don’t. He shrugs off the last of his discomfort, rolls his shoulders back and leaves the balcony.


	6. Jump-Set Promotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re just as heavy as you look, you know that?” Pietro says with a huff, pushing Bucky off an inch or two.
> 
> Bucky runs a hand under Pietro’s shirt with a grin. “You’re sure you’re complaining?”
> 
> “I’m digesting,” Pietro points out, “do you know what I need?”
> 
> Bucky gives up on getting Pietro to take his shirt off. He lies down next to him and looks up at his handsome face. He still can’t believe he gets to stare at this guy for however long he likes, and that Pietro likes it as much as Bucky does.
> 
> Bucky strokes Pietro’s stubbled chin. “What, baby?”
> 
> “My personal space,” he says with a smirk as he pushes Bucky’s hand away. 
> 
> “So that’s how it is, huh?” Bucky sniggers. “Come here, you dork.”

Bucky has barely enough time to push the door after he twists the key in the lock before Natasha yells at him from the living room.

“He lives!”

Bucky shrugs off his coat and puts his boots away neatly. He hopes Natasha won’t realize he’s still wearing Pietro’s clothes. She wouldn’t be able to tell, realistically. This is just a black t-shirt and some straight leg sweatpants. He’s never worn anything like this outside in his life, but Natasha wouldn’t know about that either.

“Ooh,” she coos, “did you borrow your boyfriend’s clothes after your weekend getaway?”

Dammit.

Bucky sits down on the couch next to her, putting his feet up on the coffee table. He calls the dog over and is greeted by someone a lot more appreciative of his presence.

“Hey, there, good girl,” he says in a high-pitched voice, “happy new year to you and only you Lucky. Yeah? Do you want to know why? Because you don’t pester me about my relationship after you went ahead and screamed about it on the rooftops.”

Natasha kicks his side. He laughs, turning to her. He holds out his arm for her. She jumps up into him and squeezes.

“Happy New Year, you dweeb,” she says happily.

“Happy New Year, you twerp,” he replies in the same tone.

He ruffles her hair before setting back against the plump cushions. She’s got Netflix on, she’s also in pajamas and he can tell by the amount of takeaway bags by the trashcan that she’s probably feeling like Bucky does. Getting older sucks.

“How was your party?” he says after he sets his feet on the coffee table, finding a bag of chips by his left side. “Clint’s gone already?”

She nods absently. “Got a call this morning.”

“Sorry,” he replies immediately. 

“He stayed longer than he usually does,” she says with a shrug, not taking her eyes off the TV screen. She puts her hand out and Bucky drops a handful of chips there. “The party was good.”

Bucky hesitates before he clears his throat. “Steve was there?”

“Indeed, he was.”

“And, uh, Peggy, as well? How…How are they? You haven’t seen them in a while, right?”

Natasha turns her head to glare at him. “They are good. Doing well.”

Bucky avoids her eyes. “I’m just asking. Whatever. Why is it always like pulling teeth with you? I’m catching up.”

“Catching up,” Natasha repeats suspiciously.

Bucky sinks further into the couch. It’s been six months of this, walking around each other, with Bucky pretending he wants to know nothing about Steve’s life and Natasha pretending she has no idea about his whereabouts either. Maybe it’s for the best. He drops it.

He almost dozes off in front of what seemed to be the fifth or sixth episode of a series he has no idea about. He doesn’t really have the energy to make Natasha put on something he’d be interested in. He doesn’t have the energy for much. He has barely slept after last night’s night terror and his body still seemingly hasn’t recovered from the partying.

“How was your party?” Natasha says, pulling Bucky out of his slumber.

He blinks once or twice before he replies, “Pretty good. Packed. It was like the other party that Pietro invited us to, except smaller and mostly outside. I had a good time.”

“He likes you,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Sure, I like him too.”

“And you spent a whole three days in his apartment.”

“Are you declaring things to me or are you awaiting answers?”

Natasha glares at him. “What are you doing, James? You can’t lead him on, it’s not fair.”

“Who says I’m leading him on? We just…We haven’t talked about any of that stuff. We’re having fun. It’s casual. It’s…whatever. I’ve never been single in my whole life, alright? I’ve never seen people like that. I’m taking my time.”

“Is it about Peggy?”

Bucky groans. “No. Why the fuck would it be about Peggy? I don’t care that Steve has a girlfriend. I divorced him. He can do what he wants. I’m doing what I want.”

“Ok. Fine. Just don’t break his heart. He’s a great guy. He’s my friend too. I work with his twin sister. Don’t make it awkward for me.”

“I don’t plan to,” Bucky shakes his head. “Why am I the bad guy here anyway? Pietro is an adult. He can decide things for himself.”

“He’s half your age,” Natasha mocks.

“Seven years! Seven years younger! Hardly a boy toy. Clint is way older than you, do I give you shit about that?”

Natasha’s eyes harden. “I’m married to Clint. And you did give me shit before I married him.”

“Yeah, because he was going through a divorce and I thought he didn’t care about…Oh fuck me,” Bucky grumbles. “Am I Clint in this scenario? Is Pietro going to become my second wife through dedication and unrelenting affection? Shit, he’s also Russian. Wow. Imagine that.”

“Fuck off,” she says but she’s smiling now. “He’s Sokovian. You see my point now, don’t you?”

Bucky has a deep sigh. “Yeah, guess so. I guess I suck. But Nat, he’s so hot. And he’s kind. Thoughtful, funny…I’m only one man. The things he does…You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Gross,” she says and pokes his ribs. “I don’t need to hear about your younger lover’s stamina.”

Bucky laughs. This feels a little surreal. There is a whole new year ahead of him now, filled with new experiences already and it even doesn’t include Steve. This is the first time that’s ever happened to him. He swallows around the oddness in his mouth, like something isn’t sitting quite right, deep inside his skin.

For all he tried to escape this, for all he succeeded in distracting himself, the reality of it sinks in. He feels so heavy, like his limbs are filled with tar and he’ll never move again. All the easiness of the moment has been sucked out of the air.

“I am,” he starts but can’t seem to find the words.

“What?” Natasha says distractedly, her eyes fixed on her show.

“I’m trying,” he manages to grit out. “I am. I just need…”

Natasha squeezes his knee, turning to face him. “I know. It’s not easy. Just…Don’t rush into anything. Try this thing I heard about; it’s called communication. It’s a tool that people use so that they’re on the same page.”

This helps, if only slightly, in making Bucky’s breathing easier. He focuses on the overly dramatic dialogue. Everything in his life for the past six months has been about taking things slowly, one day at the time. He can’t back down now. He can only go forward, one foot after the other. He closes his eyes. Natasha cuddles up to him, the dog on her end of the couch. It’s familiar enough. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep peacefully.

*****

It’s not like Bucky hates his job. His job is fine. He’s been working at the Potts and Hogan firm since he graduated from Colombia. Pepper Potts is the one that believed in him enough to make him go all the way from intern to IT Director. He’s grateful, he really is. But he’s bored. He’s learned everything he ever could have. He’s not passionate about the place, not anymore.

Living with Natasha and Clint doesn’t help, of course. They’re both workaholics, obsessed with their craft. Their careers are interesting too. Clint, with whatever he’s doing with Steve. Bucky tries to think about this as less often as he can. Natasha, with her portfolio of clients and the support she offers them. They enjoy their work, which is what matters the most to Bucky. He wants the same for himself. Something fulfilling.

Pietro is a great help in that area, as Pietro knows everything about everyone that matters in the city. If he hasn’t met the person in one swanky party, he’s cut their hair, or the hair of their wives and these people love to brag apparently. So, Bucky has got all the contacts in need, in case he decides to apply places.

Everything is ready for the day Bucky Barnes finally realizes what the fuck it is he wants to do with his life. That day, which still has not come, as he gets closer and closer to turning thirty-five.

Bucky does enjoy IT. He likes working in data security, in risk assessment. All of that is great, it’s just not enough. With the experience he’s got now, he knows he could get into any sort of positions. He wants something exciting. Something that will surprise him every day.

He’s browsing LinkedIn one day when he finds the advertisement for Tony Stark’s company, the eponymous Stark Industries, as part of the Research and Development team, for the risk assessment and IT part. This sounds like the perfect position for him. He also happens to work at the CEO’s wife’s firm, which means he doesn’t even need Pietro to recommend him. But that also means he’ll have to talk to Pepper about his plans for the future and all that bullshit and well, that’s just never nice.

*****

It goes better than Bucky hoped. Pepper is, as always, so kind and understanding. She says that she is sad to see him go and that she won’t talk to Stark directly, as that would just be nepotism, but that she will be honest about his hard work and ability. She and Happy write him a great recommendation letter.

A week after Bucky sends his application, he gets a call back from Stark’s PA, someone called Peter Parker, to set up the interview. It’s as standard as interviews for these sorts of positions go, it’s very formal, there’s a lot of back and forth. Bucky does his best to impress them, brings up a lot of anecdotes. There’s a second round, then a third. After a while, Bucky feels like he won’t get an answer, like he’s being passed around as a kindness to Pepper, that he isn’t suitable.

Some day at the end of January, Bucky is watching a movie with Natasha, the dog halfway in both their laps, when his phone pings. He scrambles to open his emails. He finds an offer for the job at Stark Industries. He blinks at his phone a couple times before Natasha reaches out.

“Oh my god, James!” she exclaims happily, “you got it!”

“Nat,” he manages to say, “look at the signing bonus they’re offering. This...I mean, it has to be a mistake, right?”

She shakes her head. “Of course not. That’s what you’re worth. This is amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

Bucky nods eagerly. He’s earned this. He’s been at the firm for almost ten years. He can’t wait to start at this new place. He feels so excited. This, he only has himself to thank for. He went and got what he wanted, on his own, for one of the first times in his life.

“I gotta call Pietro,” he says quickly before he bites his tongue.

Natasha’s smile widens and widens.

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles, “I can text him too. I guess it’s late.”

“You _like_ like him,” she singsongs for what seems like the hundredth time. “He’s the first thing you think of every morning when you wake up.”

“I am not fourteen and he is not my boyfriend,” Bucky says with a sigh.

“He could be.”

Bucky knows that. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not yet. Pietro is great. He is charming, funny, whip smart. He’s gorgeous, too. Bucky is very sure that Pietro enjoys his company too, for whatever reason he’s found. Bucky is not about to pull on that thread. Doesn’t mean he’s about to set anything in stone either.

“May I watch the movie in peace?” Bucky says instead of an answer.

“Whatever,” Natasha replies, with a little twinkle in her eyes.

“It’s a good movie,” Bucky persists.

“Yeah, great to watch with romantic partners. Which we are not.”

“Give it a rest,” he mutters.

“Then consider it.”

“I am. I am taking things slow,” he goes on. “It’s hard for me and you know that. I’m not Steve. I can’t just jump in with both feet.”

“Yeah,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, “but you’ll get there.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, focusing back on the movie. Step by step. He’ll get there.

*****

Bucky starts to hang out more at Pietro’s apartment than Natasha’s. He sees him every other day and when they’re not by each other, they’re talking on the phone. He hasn’t seen anyone else than Pietro since…Well, since Pietro. But this is good. This requires no adjustments. They had one big talk during the New Year’s party. They’re fine.

It’s the beginning of February. Pietro ordered from his favorite Vietnamese place in TriBeCa, which, who knew there was food in New York outside of Brooklyn, and once they’re finished eating, Bucky flops down on top of Pietro in his bed.

“You’re just as heavy as you look, you know that?” Pietro says with a huff, pushing Bucky off an inch or two.

Bucky runs a hand under Pietro’s shirt with a grin. “You’re sure you’re complaining?”

“I’m digesting,” Pietro points out, “do you know what I need?”

Bucky gives up on getting Pietro to take his shirt off. He lies down next to him and looks up at his handsome face. He still can’t believe he gets to stare at this guy for however long he likes, and that Pietro likes it as much as Bucky does.

Bucky strokes Pietro’s stubbled chin. “What, baby?”

“My personal space,” he says with a smirk as he pushes Bucky’s hand away.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” Bucky snickers. “Come here, you dork.”

Bucky puts his hand on the back of Pietro’s neck and pulls him towards his mouth. What starts as a a soft and gentle kiss becomes more. Bucky loves kissing Pietro. He loves his lean strength, the way he always pushes for more, like he’s desperate for more of Bucky, whatever he can get. Bucky always gives himself over easily.

But Pietro lets go quickly. He looks at Bucky with a little smile, almost beaming at him, like he also can’t believe his luck. So happy to just make out like horny teenagers. Bucky lies down better on Pietro.

“You know what I need?” Bucky says, his words muffled against Pietro’s chest. “I need to get my own place. New year, new job…”

Pietro scratches the lower part of his scalp. Bucky leans into the touch. “It _is_ weird that you live with a married couple at your age.”

Bucky pushes off his chest and rolls off. “Wow, rude.”

Pietro gathers him back into his arms and laughs. “Soon enough, I’ll be visiting you in your nice retired community,” he kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “My little old man.”

“I’m hip! I’m going to turn thirty-five and still be hip!”

“No one says hip anymore, baby.”

Bucky glares at him. “Anyway. I should, right?” He shakes his head, not this again. He knows what he wants, he doesn’t need to gather statistics about every decision he makes. “I mean, I want to. I just don’t want to hurt Nat’s feelings. This has nothing to do with her, but I know how she gets.”

“Just tell her. You’re not a prisoner there. You’ll be fine.”

Pietro keeps his hand in Bucky’s hair. Bucky could fall asleep like this, but he just can’t take anymore old man jokes.

“Yeah,” he says with an exhale. “I’ll just tell her. Worse thing that can happen is that she decides she wants to plan my housewarming party.”

Pietro has a bright laugh. “Make it themed. About housewarming traditions all over the world. Make everyone pick a country and come dressed up.”

“Oh god,” Bucky says, laughing too, “I swear it’s like you two share a brain. Never tell her about this.”

*****

Bucky doesn’t wait long before announcing that he wants to look for a place. He does wait until after Natasha has made them dinner and they’ve both had two glasses of wine, sitting by each other’s side on the kitchen island.

“Nat,” he starts as lightly as he can, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Stop the presses,” she deadpans.

“Funny,” Bucky says. “Moving on. I’m going to be looking for my own place.”

Besides him, he feels her tensing.

“I was always going to leave. I can’t just live with you and Clint like an overgrown man-child until I’m dead. I’m sure you want your space back.”

She purses her lips into a smirk. “You’ll miss me more than I’ll miss you. You’ve never lived on your own.”

“Back when I was married,” Bucky starts.

“You were married then,” Natasha cuts. “Steve didn’t stay with you much, but he did come home. Now, it’ll be just you and all the thoughts you keep having.”

“I’m ready. I can do this,” he assures her.

She looks up to him from her plate. He knows that look in her eyes. “Will you move in with Pietro?”

Bucky sighs. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely the first step of discussing our relationship. Moving in before you even make it official. Modern man Bucky Barnes, that’s me.”

Is it weird that Bucky has been seeing so much of Pietro and still hasn’t even considered making it official? Probably. Is he ever going to admit it? No chance in hell. They’re taking things slow. They’re on the same page. It’s working great for them both.

“What about Valentine’s Day?” Natasha says after a pause.

“What about that day in February that no one over fifteen cares about?” Bucky replies mildly.

Natasha snorts. “It’s next Sunday. That means if Pietro asks you out on Saturday and you sleep over, technically it’ll be an overnight date to Valentine’s Day. Will you survive?”

“You know what? Let’s get back to you being abandoned by me because I’m moving out. That was great, talking about _your_ feelings for once.”

Natasha shakes her head. “You must have me confused. Couldn’t have been me.”

Bucky pinches her ribs to make her squeal. She jumps away and flails her hand around.

“I can’t wait for you to move out! The peace I’ll have!”

Bucky will miss her too. He loved living with her all these months, but this is his next step and he wants to do it.

*****

  
The fateful Saturday before Valentine’s Day, Bucky heads over to Pietro’s apartment. Pietro hasn’t said anything, and Bucky is very hopeful that Pietro is too busy to have realized. Or too casual and detached to care. It’s just a day after all. Why does it have to matter? It doesn’t, to Bucky at least. It’s just a day. He never used to celebrate it with Steve, not that Steve would have been around to care or do anything romantic on that day. It was hard enough to have him commit to be there for Bucky’s birthday so…

Anyway. He doesn’t need this train of thoughts now.

He knocks on Pietro’s door. They do this almost every couple of days and definitely every weekend. It’s just a day in February. It’s not even that very evening. It’s fine.

“Hey, baby,” Pietro greets him, pulling him into a tight hug.

Bucky kisses his cheek before he puts his coat and shoes away. He follows Pietro into the living room. Wanda is there, all dolled up by the big mirror they keep between the space of the dining table and the living room area. He kisses her cheek too because he’s learned that’s what they usually do, back in Sokovia. Wanda’s become a good friend of his too now that he spends all his time here. She smiles brightly and gives him a little twirl.

“What do you think? You’d be more helpful than Pietro.”

Bucky shrugs. “I think you look great but then again, I am gay, and I love shiny things.”

Wanda is wearing a dress that seems like it’s covered in red glitter. It shines under the light. Her hair is up in a ponytail. Her smile widens and she excitedly jumps around. Bucky looks at her fondly. She's adorable.

“Wanda’s got a big date,” Pietro supplies, sitting down at the dining table, opening up a beer bottle.

“Nice,” Bucky comments, taking the seat next to him, at head of the table. Pietro immediately puts his legs up in Bucky’s lap. Bucky massages his ankles absentmindedly. Pietro works on his feet all day and Bucky has learned all sorts of tricks to relax his legs. They’ve done this for what feels like a million times.

“What are you guys planning, anyway?” Wanda says, going back to the mirror to adjusts her hair.

Bucky feels slightly apprehensive. His throat is dry. Luckily, Pietro just shrugs.

“Probably just order in and watch something. Chill. What do you feel like tonight, baby?”

“Whatever,” he replies, hoping his tone is steady and unbothered, “I’m easy.”

Pietro smirks, looking at Wanda. He takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, you are.”

Bucky pinches at the sensitive skin on his ankle. He yelps.

“Idiot,” Bucky laughs.

Wanda gathers her things, kisses them both again and heads out for her date. Pietro goes to get Bucky a beer and they review their takeaway order. There’s nothing difficult about their relationship. Bucky finds himself relaxing. He can decide to make it complicated with big words of commitment or he can just go with whatever is in front of him. Maybe that’s what he’s supposed to do. Enjoy what he’s got while it’s front of him and not make a big deal out of the smallest things, like he’s been doing for years.

They eat their food at the table, talking about their week. Bucky helps Pietro clean up, then Pietro gets water all over his t-shirt and, obviously, the only thing he can think of doing is taking it off and wringing it over the sink.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Is this really necessary? You know I’m a sure thing.”

“Oh, baby,” Pietro says with his sultriest voice, still wringing his t-shirt that is now in no need of this much effort, “I’m just a seductive guy. That’s what I do. I seduce the men that come to my apartment.”

“Huh, uh,” Bucky hums, discarding his own t-shirt, because why not, at this point. “I’m all seduced now. What are you going to do about it?”

“I was just getting started.”

Pietro walks over to where Bucky is standing, leaving his damp t-shirt in the sink and wraps his hands around Bucky’s jaw, cupping his face. Bucky holds on to his back, pulling him close, pressing their bare chests together. He waits, looking up at Pietro patiently.

Pietro smiles. He runs his thumb on Bucky’s lower lip. Bucky opens his mouth, licking at his finger tentatively. Pietro’s breath itches and Bucky thinks, I’ve got him. Pietro is the one who’s the easiest between the both of them.

Bucky opens his mouth more, makes a show of swiping his tongue along Pietro’s thumb. He takes it all in, sucks on it, hollowing his cheeks like he’d do with a cock. His hands grab onto Pietro’s hips and he sinks to his knees, never breaking eye contact, never letting go of the thumb in his mouth. Pietro watches him like he’s the most beautiful sunset on a beach. A little reverently, a little thrilled. Bucky feels all his nerves wake up at once, turning on all over.

He makes quick work of Pietro’s belt buckle and jeans. He’s not surprised to find him hard as a rock. He lets go of his thumb to swallow him down whole.

“Fuck!”

Pietro buries his hands in Bucky’s hair. He guides Bucky’s rhythm, almost fucking his mouth with little twitches of his hips. Bucky holds on tighter, his fingers digging into the v of Pietro’s waist. He lets him take whatever he wants from him. He loosens the muscles in his jaw and breathes through his nose. He looks up at Pietro. The way his lips are slightly parted, his eyes are so dark, his cheeks are flushed…He’s so beautiful. Bucky doesn’t deserve him. He’s so open, he gives Bucky so much. Bucky will ruin him, he realizes now.

“Ah, baby,” Pietro moans, “I’m going…Bucky, fuck…”

Pietro pulls off quickly and Bucky only has time to close his eyes before he comes all over his face and chest. Bucky licks his lips, gathering whatever’s there and swallowing. Pietro brushes his thumb at his jaw.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

Bucky smiles, opening his eyes again. “And I thought you were doing the seduction.”

Pietro laughs. He rubs a hand at his face. Bucky almost wants to do the same.

“Go shower,” Pietro prompts, “I’ll seduce you all over the bedroom.”

Bucky gets up and Pietro grabs his shoulders to press a light kiss on his lips. He pulls Bucky’s hair back off his forehead. He’s not the steadiest on his feet, Bucky holds him close. They stare at each other for a second or two. This feels like something Bucky shouldn’t have allowed himself to have. It feels like too much and nothing at all at the same time.

“Come on,” Pietro continues, like Bucky is meant to stand here, in his arms, like this is really happening, “the evening’s not over yet.”

*****

Pietro’s idea of the rest of the evening is to eat Bucky out and fuck him thoroughly enough that he forgets all about his moral qualms. Really, maybe he just thinks too much. He feels so boneless, sprayed out on Pietro’s bed, naked and blissed out. The thing about Pietro is that he can be very distracting.

Pietro somehow managed to get dressed. Or just put on sweatpants. He’s standing by the balcony, a cigarette dancing in his hand, as always, topless in the cold of February. Lit up like that in the moonlight, he makes a wonderful picture. Bucky lets himself stare at him for a minute.

“You alright, baby?” Pietro says gently, his tone a little mocking.

“You want to gloat about your sexual prowess? Be my guest. You deserve it.”

Pietro chuckles. He’s so goddamn cute. He taps the cigarette into the ashtray, his eyes on Bucky.

“How’s the apartment hunting going anyway?”

“You know how hard it is to apply for a condo? Not even buying the place, just applying. Fucking Brooklyn, man. It didn’t used to be this way…”

“Well,” Pietro says with a little shrug, “there are places in New York that are not Brooklyn. Look at me, I’m fine here. Manhattan is just as expensive as Brooklyn these days.”

“For the sake of our relationship, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Bucky says slowly.

“Oh, wow, you said the R word,” Pietro sniggers.

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbles against the pillow, “I’m tired and I’m old, leave me alone.”

Pietro appears by the bed and runs a hand through Bucky’s hair. “Is it because Valentine’s Day is tomorrow that you’re feeling romantic like that?”

Bucky freezes in his spot. He turns around a bit to look at Pietro properly. So, Pietro did know. Of course he knew, he’s got a calendar. Bucky is such a moron sometimes.

“I, uh, I can go home now. If you want.”

“What do _you_ want, baby?” Pietro asks composedly.

Bucky has no idea whether he’s hurt or not. Pietro is hard to read sometimes. He’s always relaxed about everything.

“I am tired and old.”

Pietro nods with a smile, cuddling up to Bucky’s side, wrapping both his arms around him. “So tired and so old.”

“I could stay the night.”

“Wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. We don’t even have to talk about it,” Pietro assures.

“It is just a day in February.”

Pietro presses a kiss on Bucky’s shoulder, then another on his neck, another behind his ear. “Just another day. It’s not even that late.”

“You’re going to have to give me some time if you want me to go again though,” Bucky says, turning around to look at Pietro’s face. “I know I joke about this a lot but I’m no spring chicken these days.”

Pietro laughs, kisses him, holds him. Bucky promises himself he won’t get used to this. That he will do the right thing. He won’t let this go on longer than it needs to. If he’s really not ready, he’ll put the breaks on whatever this is. For now, though. For now, Pietro offered. They are on the same page. For now, Bucky lets himself take a little more.

*****

Bucky takes Pietro furniture shopping the week after Valentine’s day. It’s not because Pietro is his boyfriend, because he’s not, no matter how much Natasha tries to get him to say it. It’s more because Pietro has become a really good friend of Bucky’s. Also, because Pietro has the best taste and is the most knowledgeable person about furniture shops around New York in Bucky’s contact list. They can just gloss over the domesticity of the encounter.

They’re going through the sofa area for now. Bucky doesn’t want to think about his old leather couch he had found when he moved in with Steve. That one was huge and so comfortable. He wants something completely different, but just as big and comfortable. Something he can put right in the middle of the living room and have everyone over for movie nights or whatever it is that single people in their 30s do. He hopes it’s movie nights with friends because he’s tired a lot.

“Look at this,” he points to an enormous yellow cube of a sofa. “Now that’s some couch.”

“This looks like a Tetris piece, baby,” Pietro counters.

It kind of does. What Bucky likes about it is the fact that it’s a big module. He could arrange this in so many different ways. It’s exciting.

“Aren’t too young and hot to know about Tetris?” He says with a smile.

Pietro sits down on another enormous red sofa, a little further away from the Tetris looking one. He pets the fabric for a second. “This is nice. Comfortable.”

Bucky follows him, settling into the pillows. “Don’t know about red though. Isn’t that too aggressive?”

“You’re so old,” Pietro mocks with a smile. “What an adult conversation.”

“Hey,” Bucky protests jokingly. “You wanted to come. You could have stayed home and hung out with whatever hip friends you’ve got.”

Pietro buries a hand at the top of Bucky’s hair where the hair is still long enough to hold on to. He drags him toward him to meet for a quick kiss.

“Yeah,” he says, his forehead to Bucky’s. “It’s a real inconvenience having to hang out with you, baby. Why don’t you just hire a decorator now that you’re so rich?”

Bucky considers this for a minute. He grins. “Yeah and maybe he’ll be hot and give me less shit about my age.”

Pietro huffs a laugh and presses another kiss to Bucky’s lips. He gets up again and goes to another long row of different sofas. Bucky runs his hands on the fabric. It is pretty great. Maybe they have it in other colors.

*****

To move in, the one last thing Bucky has to do is to go through the boxes of his old condo, the one he shared with Steve. The boxes he hasn’t opened since Clint and him loaded them up in a storage unit in Brooklyn. Bucky has only kept the ones he did himself with all of his clothes. The rest, the knickknacks, the books, whatever Steve decided would go to him, he hasn’t thought about twice since he moved out.

Natasha volunteers to come help him go through it. Bucky thanks her but he knows how noisy she is and how she loves to uncover old things. He can’t complain because the only other person he could have asked for this is Becca. He couldn’t have stood for her sad eyes every time he would have found something of some relation to Steve and their stupid failed marriage that he’s definitely over.

They go to the storage unit early in the morning and start to figure out what is junk and what Bucky should keep. Turns out there is a lot of junk. Mainly tableware that he can do without. Books that he’s read enough. Bucky almost wants to throw away everything, because if he’s lived without it all for almost nine months, can’t he do without it forever?

Bucky opens the last few boxes with a sigh. Natasha is going through the old album pictures his mom put together for him and Steve after their wedding. It’s not something he ever wants to open but he doesn’t comment on it. Natasha punctuates her viewing with giggles or little gasps, retelling the stories she has almost forgotten. It feels old, like Bucky’s life with Steve happened decades ago. They haven’t even been divorced for a year yet.

One of the boxes has a couple books and little souvenirs Bucky had accumulated over the years. Natasha has brought him to so many weird, small rural towns’ obscure festivals. But the box also holds a bright red box that Bucky couldn’t have forgotten about. He feels the corners of his mouth tug up in what must be the world’s saddest smile. He hadn’t accepted the present, but Steve had packed it anyway. Carefully too, wrapped up in the original packaging.

Bucky opens the box delicately. Yep, still there, beautiful as always, the bracelet that Steve had gifted Bucky for a belated anniversary gift. How stupid had that been. Bucky had served him with divorce papers and Steve had still wanted to make a celebration of their broken relationship. He hadn’t even tried to take it back. He hadn’t said anything about putting away for Bucky either.

Bucky holds the bracelet between his fingers. He looks at his watch. It would match. He hasn’t even tried the bracelet on once. Natasha is now looking intently at him.

“What is that?” she asks gently, as if he’s a small animal she could spook into running away. “I’ve never seen you wear this.”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” Bucky says before he clears his throat, “Steve gave me this. For our second anniversary. I mean, he tried.”

Natasha quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Before or after he kissed Peggy?”

And isn’t that a nice reminder of that whole debacle.

“Before. He got it before. It doesn’t matter.”

Natasha stares at him like it really does and Bucky has no words to explain himself. He can’t stop looking at the bracelet like it’s an old-world relic.

“Would it be very weird if I wear it?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“It’s a pretty significant gift, isn’t it? It’s a _love_ bracelet. It costs a fortune.”

“I know but…,” he sighs.

“What?”

“Well I can’t really send it back to Steve. It’s been here for months, collecting dust. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s a bracelet.”

Natasha walks over to take the bracelet in her own hands. Bucky obliges and gives it to her. She considers it for a minute.

“I mean…What would you tell Pietro about it?”

“Why would I tell him anything about it? He doesn’t ask me about my shopping habits. I doubt he’ll care.”

Natasha nods. “If you don’t care then, sure, wear it. It’s really beautiful. I never noticed Steve having good taste.”

Bucky has a small laugh. “Well, he did marry me.”

“Exactly my point,” she says with an eye roll.

“How easy was that!”

“You walked right into it.”

Bucky scoffs at that but holds out his wrist anyway. Natasha obliges and puts the bracelet on him with a careful touch. The white gold suits the metal of the watch and the blue stones compliment the screen of the watch.

It doesn’t have to be about Steve. Bucky hasn’t seen Steve since they packed those very boxes, so who would know about it? Who would look on it and remember the sad, desperate eyes of Steve, as he let Bucky go? Who would think of Steve’s tight lips as he stared at Bucky, in their hallway, holding hands because they were terrified to let the other one leave? No one. No one but Bucky. Because Bucky exists without Steve now. He’s his own person, his own separated entity, that has managed to live on. All these memories that he caries with him, he shares with no one.

This bracelet, how much a pathetic remnant of a time long gone, no one would think twice while looking at it. Except Bucky. This isn’t something he will ever part with, he knows this, right down to his soul, and he almost doesn’t care how pitiful that makes him. He knows Steve has moved on, so he feels like this is his duty to remember their relationship, as a weird, fucked up keepsake of their time together. No one else can.

“Are you ok?” Natasha asks after a pause, looking up at him with worried eyes.

“I’m fine,” he lies again.

He’s said this countless times. He’s never meant it. He’ll get there, one day. For now, he can wear the bracelet and pretend.


	7. Situation Normal, All Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bucky?” Steve says confusedly, his dumb, beautiful face crumpled into a frown. Bucky hasn’t seen him since that day before they sold the condo. He hasn’t heard his voice since that dreaded call at Christmas. He freezes in his spot. Steve manages better and goes on, “What are you doing here?”
> 
> Bucky blinks a couple of time. What is he doing here? He has no idea. Steve is here. Steve still has the beard. His hair is longer and slicked back. Steve is hot as hell and Bucky feels so weak.
> 
> “Buck? Are you ok?”

It’s Bucky’s very first day at Stark Industries and he’s almost late. If he can manage to find his floor in the next three minutes, he could be on time. He highly doubts that’s possible but he’s a man full of hopes these days.

He makes his way across the lobby hurriedly, scans his brand-new pass at the turnstiles and heads right for the elevators. He fumbles with his pockets, trying to put the pass back and pull out his phone to find the direction at the same time.

He doesn’t look to where he’s going and bumps right into a thick shoulder and…No. No goddamn way. How?!

“Bucky?” Steve says confusedly, his dumb, beautiful face crumpled into a frown. Bucky hasn’t seen him since that day before they sold the condo. He hasn’t heard his voice since that dreaded call at Christmas. He freezes in his spot. Steve manages better and goes on, “What are you doing here?”

Bucky blinks a couple of time. What is he doing here? He has no idea. Steve is here. Steve still has the beard. His hair is longer and slicked back. Steve is hot as hell and Bucky feels so weak.

“Buck? Are you ok?”

Bucky feels his brain going back online. “Uh. Yeah, I’m fine. I work here…now. Pepper, she. Um. Helped. She recommended me. What are you…you’re here?” He feels so broken. What the hell?

“I, uh, also work here. Now,” Steve replies, just as eloquently as Bucky, “it’s really good to see you, Buck.”

“Yeah. It’s…You too. Great. Uh,” he fidgets with his work bag, “I do have to…I mean I can’t be late on my first day.”

“You started today? That’s great. Congratulations. Are you still managing IT?”

“Yeah, I’m working on this software now…Security. Classified,” he has a wry smile. Being an asshole just feels so much more comfortable. He waves a hand towards the elevator. “Guess I’ll see you around. Is it…Are you on an assignment or something?”

Steve seems even more confused than before, he stares at Bucky with a little smile, like he just found a dollar bill on his way home, like this is his luckiest day. Bucky hates what that does to him.

“Oh, you mean SHIELD!” Steve exclaims after a couple too many seconds. “No, no…I quit SHIELD. I…We had a difference of interests…I finished what I started, and I felt like…,” he shrugs, finally taking his eyes off Bucky. “I don’t know. It wasn’t my fight anymore.”

“So, you work for Stark now? What do you do?”

It feels so weird to know nothing about Steve’s life. It’s been almost a year. Nine months without Steve in his life. Bucky just now realizes how much he missed him. He wants to wrap him in his arms and never let go again. What an idiot he is.

Steve blushes a little. “I do graphic design. For this other firm, in the building. It’s…It’s been really good so far. I’ve been lucky.”

Bucky remembers fondly how Steve used to draw him when they were in high school. How he loved to sketch everything and anything. How he’d sit by the window for hours and fill out book after book. There is another bubble of guilt rising in his gut as Bucky realizes, he hadn’t even noticed when Steve had given it up. After they shipped out, Steve had drawn the desert, tanks, silhouettes…Mostly Bucky, again. Then, back in the States, he had never picked up a pencil again. Bucky is glad he found his way back.

“I’m really happy for you. You’ve always had so much talent.”

“Don’t know about that, but thanks,” Steve says, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I guess you have to…I don’t want to keep you.”

Bucky looks down at his watch. His sleeve pulls down a little and it’s too late to hide that he’s wearing the bracelet. Idiot, idiot, idiot, Bucky curses himself.

“Oh,” Steve whispers. “Is that…”

“You, uh, packed it for me. So, I…I mean I…I have to go. It’s my first day.” This is so awkward and ridiculous. “You want to, uh, grab lunch?”

The way Steve lights up at that should be illegal. His face melts into the tenderest of smiles. His blue eyes are so bright and happy. It is as if Bucky just told him he won the lottery. Bucky swallows. “I mean if you’re busy,” he tries his best to sound casual and not like the nervous wreck he is.

“Oh no, I’m free. I’d love to…Have lunch. With you. Uh, today.” He rubs his hand on his face. “Sorry. It’s just really good to see you, Bucky.”

Bucky nods, looking at the elevators. One beeps. It’s going up. He can’t stay longer. “I’ll text you. I really have to go.”

“Sure, Buck. I’ve got the same number.”

Bucky winces. Steve probably knows he’s got him blocked everywhere. That was a dick move, he knows, but there was nothing else he could have done at the time.

“Talk soon,” he says as he jogs up to the doors.

He waves a little to Steve and he’s got that same smile on his face, so happy and full. This tugs at Bucky’s heart. What an idiot Steve is. Always wearing his heart on his sleeve, ready to have it crushed. Bucky looks away. He’s with Peggy now, Bucky reminds himself. He’s got a girlfriend and he’s happy. Bucky was his best friend, maybe that’s what Steve is thinking about. This is what Bucky should be thinking about.

*****

Bucky feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin. He barely listens to his induction, nodding away as the IT director shows him around, explains what his tasks will be. Steve is here. In the building. Bucky is about to have lunch with him. He feels way too excited. He’s also so nervous. He can’t keep his hand off his bracelet. The bracelet Steve got him. Idiot. He should have never worn it. He should have left it in the box, forgot about it. But it was so nice. Such a thoughtful gift. His birthstone. Stones that matched his fancy watch Steve hadn’t stopped ribbing him about. God, what a mess.

When they finally break for lunch, Bucky’s hands are shaking. He unblocks Steve’s number and mulls over every single one of his words. It’s so stupid. They can be friends. They haven’t seen each other in so long, they’re just two friends catching up. Nothing to feel this wrecked about. The seventeen years of relationship they had is behind them. This is fine. Bucky can do this.

He sends: _Hey. Know any good place around here?_

Casual enough. What if it’s too eager? He had to text first, having been the one to block Steve on everything. It’s a simple text. But what if Steve has deleted his number? He’s going insane. This is his end.

_They make great bagels in the restaurant on the top floor. :)_

Steve uses smiley faces now? Bucky pushes that dreadful thought, that he doesn’t know Steve anymore, right at the back of his mind. He forces himself to breathe deeply. It is _fine_.

_Meet there?_

_OMW_

Steve abbreviates things too, now? Bucky shakes his head. That’s alright. He can deal with emoji and abbreviations Steve. As long as there’s no LMAOs or anything ridiculous like that, he can handle it. He’s the one with a younger boyfriend after all.

Oh fuck, Pietro. Bucky forgot completely about Pietro. Does he have to tell Pietro? Technically, they are not in a relationship. Bucky is following Pietro here. So, Bucky can spare him the upcoming most awkward lunch date of the decade. Pietro definitely has lunches with people that Bucky doesn’t know about. Everything is good.

Bucky braces himself, riding the elevator to the top floor. This is just lunch. He wants this, too. He’s missed having Steve in his life. He’s waited enough time.

He finds the restaurant easily. There are seats outside, but it is just the first week of March and it’s still very much freezing in Manhattan. Bucky heads inside and finds Steve, facing the counter. He’s wearing a light blue shirt and navy wool trousers that are perfectly tailored.

When did Steve start to dress appropriately? Back when they were married, it was always either sportswear two sizes too tight, not that Bucky ever minded, or stuff that his dad might have worn in the mid-80s, ugly khakis and ill-fitting t-shirts. Now, Steve is wearing what seems like an expensive Italian suit and he looks like Bucky’s filthiest wet dreams.

Bucky gets a hold on himself and walks over. He taps on Steve’s shoulder and finds that stupid smile that he should not look forward to as much as he does. He hopes he doesn’t look just as happy.

“Hi,” Steve says because he’s an idiot.

“Hey,” Bucky replies quietly, avoiding direct eye contact.

The waitress calls Steve’s name and he turns around to pay. He puts one wrapped bagel in Bucky’s hand as well as a bottle of water and a berry smoothie, damn him for knowing him so well, before he nudges him toward a table.

Bucky sits down and opens the bagel. It’s cream cheese and lox, Bucky’s favorite. He can almost hear his ma coo in his ear, _and it’s kosher too!_

“You didn’t have to get me lunch. I invited you,” Bucky points out needlessly.

“I wanted to,” Steve says with a shrug. “You still drink that?”

Bucky shakes the smoothie. “Yeah. It’s like wine pairing, in a way. Bagels and smoothies.”

Steve has the widest, dumbest smile. Bucky notices he’s not having pastrami either. Not that Bucky ever minds when people eat pork in front of him, he remembers annoying Steve about never wanting to kiss him after he had it. Not that they would kiss now. But still. Thoughtful.

“So, uh,” Bucky starts after he swallows his first bite. “How…How you’ve been? I know…It’s been a while.”

This is so awkward and stilled. He really wants to make a stupid joke to break this stupor between them. It’s like they’re both standing on the most fragile eggshells in the world.

“You know. Pretty good. I quit SHIELD. I’ve been working here since New Year’s. Still living with Sam. We got a new place though. We’re in Bushwick again.”

Bucky smiles. “Could never leave Brooklyn, could you?”

“Live anywhere else in New York, Buck, and let me know how that goes for you.”

Bucky thinks about Pietro’s place in Tribeca and shudders. Steve’s not wrong.

“What about you? Where do you live now?”

“I just bought a new place. I’m in Bed Stuy now, though. Still three blocks away from Nat and Clint.”

Steve nods absently. “That’s good. Crazy we haven’t bumped into each other more if we’re this close again.”

Bucky doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes at that. He looks down on his bagel. “Brooklyn’s still pretty big.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Silence settles between them. Bucky hates it. Everything used to be so easy between them. He wishes they could just joke again, pretend their marriage never happened and they’re just kids again, trying to make each other laugh.

Bucky has to break that anxiousness. He has to show Steve he’s fine, that they can be friends again, they can have this. They deserve this. They both moved on, but it doesn’t mean they can’t hang out, like this, like they always used to.

“So, uh. How’s Peggy? Is she still with SHIELD?”

Steve blushes a little. “Oh,” he says quietly. “She…No, she moved back to London. Just after I quit. She needed a change, I guess.”

“You guys…You broke up?” Bucky tries to keep his voice even.

“Yeah. It didn’t…It didn’t work out. I thought I could, you know, manage. But, uh,” he rubs a hand on his face again, looking away. “After the divorce and everything, it was really just terrible timing. I didn’t want to drag this out more than I should. I couldn’t hurt her like that.”

“You broke up with Peggy?”

“Yeah,” Steve continues, looking guilty. “I broke up with her at the New Year’s party. It was pretty shitty, too. I just…I didn’t want to pretend I was…I was capable of a relationship. She deserved better than to be my rebound or whatever. It’s not fair on anyone.”

Bucky nods in agreement, pretending he has no idea about that sort of behavior but giving Steve some empathy. He isn’t doing that with Pietro because, again, they aren’t together. He isn’t posting pictures of them together on Instagram. Barely anyone knows about them. He isn’t going to tell Steve now either.

“Are you seeing anyone now?”

Steve smirks a little, “Why, Buck? Are you interested?”

Bucky kicks him under the table. “Pretty sure I made my interest clear when I divorced you, babe.” Oh, fuck. He knew this would happen. He can never hold his own tongue. “I mean. Buddy.”

Steve has a bright laugh at that and for a second, Bucky thinks it was worth the blunder.

“No, I’m not. I’m trying to get better at being on my own, you know? I’m even seeing a therapist if you can believe it. I talk about my feelings and everything.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. This is so much better. “Steven Grant Rogers! If I had known that was what it would have taken, maybe I’d have divorced you years ago.”

“Too soon, Buck,” Steve chastises but he’s smiling too.

Bucky kicks his foot again. Steve chuckles, beautiful as ever. His shirt has the top two buttons open and that should not be work appropriate.

“What about you?” Steve asks after a beat, blushing a little again. Adorable. Bucky wants to eat him.

“No. No one special,” he says with a shrug. That is a new low even for him but technically, _technically_ , it’s true. “Just enjoying being single. It’s not that bad when you get the hang of it. And you know what they say, thirty-five is the new twenty-one.”

Steve seems to realize something suddenly. “Your birthday’s next week. Any plans?”

Bucky considers this for a second. He should invite Steve. They can be friends. Friends come to birthday parties. But then, Steve would meet Pietro. Steve has already met Pietro, of course, but Steve would realize Bucky is fucking Pietro and he doesn’t know how that would go. It doesn’t have to be awkward. Maybe, they would even laugh about it in a couple of years.

“Yeah. I’m moving in this weekend so I’m having a housewarming and a birthday party there. You should come. Bring Sam. I haven’t seen him in…Well.” He stops himself. They’ve talked about the divorce enough for now.

“Sure, I’d like that. That sounds fun. Haven’t seen Natasha in forever.”

“Becca will be there with the baby in the afternoon,” Bucky starts. He realizes again that Steve hasn’t met the baby because Bucky cut him off. That was very unfair of him. “She’d love it if you came to meet him. He’s almost walking now so he interacts with people way more. Also looks just like me which is a bonus.”

Steve beams. “Your nephew, huh?” he says dreamily. If they were still married, Scott would be Steve’s nephew too. They had talked about it, way back when. It must hurt. Steve says nothing else.

Bucky shakes his wrist to look at his watch again. He should head back soon. When he looks back at Steve, he can tell he’s looking at the bracelet. Bucky swallows, putting his hand down on the table, exposing his wrist. Steve immediately touches the warm metal, brushing his index on the stones.

“I never saw it on you,” he all but whispers, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s speaking out loud. “It looks great, Buck.”

“I, uh…It’s not weird, is it?”

“I gave it to you. It’s yours.”

Steve pulls out his sleeve and a slim silver bangle falls forward. That’s the Tiffany’s Knot bracelet that Bucky gave him on their first anniversary. Steve never used to wear it. Too identifiable. Bucky had picked it because it was simple enough and they had literally tied the knot, so that seemed hilarious to him at the time. He had sold Steve on it when he told him that Picasso’s own daughter had designed it. He had no idea Steve had kept it. It was nowhere as expensive as the Cartier bracelet Steve had given him either.

“I kept this, too. Do you mind?”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “No. I didn’t even know you liked it. It’s also…You know. Means marriage, technically.”

Steve has a ghost of a smile. “It’s nice. Of course, I liked it. Just because I couldn’t carry that on my dog tags, didn’t mean I didn’t want to wear it.”

“Guess that’s another of the many things we never talked about.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice small and sad. “Guess we never did much of talking. I’m glad you like the bracelet. It does match your watch, I was right.”

Bucky smiles, for real this time. “It’s really beautiful, Steve. I don’t even remember if I thanked you properly.”

“You’re welcome, Buck.”

“I need to go back in. This induction is pretty intense.”

Steve nods, unlocking his phone to look at the time. “Yeah, I should head back too. I might see you around. It’s a big building but there’s only that many places to eat.”

“I promise I won’t block your number again,” Bucky tries to make it sound light and like he’s just joking around but the hurt is so easily read on Steve’s face. “So, you can text me. If you want. I’ll let you know my new address. For the party.”

“Ok, Buck,” he looks up to him as Bucky gathers his things and heads for the door. It’s weird, not to kiss goodbye, not to touch each other. “See you later.”

Bucky waves as he leaves, feeling like a moron but also somehow a little lighter. He comes back to his new office, his head clearer and his heart steadier. Thinking of Steve’s smile and his bright blue eyes does make the day go a bit faster.

*****

Pietro comes to Bucky’s brand-new condo as soon as he’s all settled in. Technically, it is the night of his birthday, but the party is that Friday, so Bucky has nothing planned. It’s not a real celebration, it doesn’t mean that much that Pietro is coming over and having dinner with him. They’re going to have sex, so it’s not even a date. It’s a hang out. Whatever.

Bucky hasn’t seen Pietro in a little while, maybe a week or so and it’s nice to show him the finished product of his long-winded apartment hunt. It’s also very nice to be able to have Pietro around for sex in the place where no one else lives. Pietro has about a thousand stories to tell Bucky. Apparently, there was some fashion week thing going on and Pietro has done so many shows and there’s been so much gossip. Bucky likes to hear him talk. Pietro is a great storyteller.

They finish eating and Pietro loads the dishwasher by Bucky’s side. Bucky stares at him. His mom would love Pietro. He remembers how happy she was to hear he had a potential Jewish boyfriend. And he’s so polite. Could he do that? Introduce Pietro to his mom? Make it official?

“Something on my face?” Pietro says gently, looking at Bucky as he gets up, slapping a dishtowel on his shoulder.

Bucky shakes his head. “You’re just hot. Can’t help myself.”

Pietro smirks. He walks over to close the distance between them when Bucky realizes something. “Oh shit,” he mutters. “It’s Purim today, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“I didn’t even call my mom.”

“Babe,” Pietro says calmly, with that look he has on when Bucky is being a useless Jew or a complete moron or both. “Purim was two weeks ago.”

“Goddamn it. I didn’t even call my mom. It was on my birthday last year.”

“Yeah, baby. It changes every year. Because of the lunar calendar. Remember basic Judaism?”

Bucky pouts. “Well, ha-fucking-ha. You could have reminded me. I would have sent a card or something.”

“Bucky, you’re so cute when you’re dumb. I swear,” he finally walks over and presses his lips on Bucky’s. It tastes like tomato sauce and perfection. “It just gets me going.”

Bucky playfully pushes him away. “Hey.”

“Wanda and I sent you a Purim basket. I literally called it a Purim basket, so you’d know what I meant. Your mom and Becca sent you one too. I even reminded you to make your donations. You’re my little idiot.”

Oh, so, that was what those baskets with all the bread were.

Pietro sets his hands on either side of Bucky’s neck before crawling up to his jaw as he deepens the kiss. Bucky wraps his own hands on Pietro’s waist and lets himself be taken into the embrace. Pietro is just as much as a delight as always. His strong, lean body presses against Bucky in all the right way. They break apart as Pietro catches Bucky’s earlobe between his teeth. Bucky groans.

“So, if Purim was two weeks ago, did I miss Passover too?”

“So fucking dumb,” Pietro whispers into his neck. He kisses a line down Bucky’s shoulder, uncovering skin as he moves. “Tell me you don’t know what Mazel Tov means, I’ll come in my pants, honestly.”

Bucky giggles. “I know what Mazel Tov means! It means congrats!”

Pietro moans loudly, back up right by Bucky’s ear. “Oh, baby, you just say all the right things.”

“Hey! What does Mazel Tov mean?”

Pietro unbuckles Bucky’s belt and strokes his clothed erection. “Leave some for the bedroom, holy shit.”

*****

“I mean, what am I supposed to do?” Bucky grumbles to Natasha as they stroll through the Whole Foods. “I can’t uninvite now. That’s rude as fuck. Even for me. Besides,” he goes on, picking out all the cheese sticks from the shelf and dumping them in the cart, “he said he wanted to see you.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, either at that sentence or the amount of cheese sticks Bucky deems is necessary for his one party.

“And, also, we’re divorced. I don’t have to tell him anything. It’s none of his business anymore.”

Natasha glares at him a little. He glares right back.

“I’m going to get a cocktail shaker,” he continues, ignoring her, “I’m going to learn how to make cocktails. That’s the type of gay I’m going to be now. Let’s get those stupid umbrellas. You can cut up pineapple into stars. We’ll have a great time and you will stop that,” he says, gesturing at her face, “because I deserve some support.”

Natasha shrugs. “Fine. Your disaster of a party. Is Beth coming too? Because her trying to parent trap you and Steve will be the icing on the cake.”

“No, thank fuck. She’s got exams or something. I don’t know. I hope to God that Steve hasn’t told her. But who knows?”

Natasha inspects a box of frozen canapés next. Bucky grabs a copious amount of the kind she picked out and puts it down next to the cheese sticks. They need chips too. And guac, loads of guac.

“How’s the office anyway? Miss me yet?”

“Feels weird not to see you every day,” she says in a weird show of honesty. “Now, it’s me and Lucky again. I’m trying to convince Yelena to have a sleepover but she’s not nearly as into sheet masks as you are so it wouldn’t even be _that_ fun.”

Bucky grabs her shoulder and squeezes her by his side. He loves her. She’s so tiny. He ruffles her hair and keeps going through the aisles.

“You can have sleepovers at my place anytime now. I’ll keep a pair of pajamas for you, buy some hilarious pun mugs about Russia, it’ll be great.”

She wraps an arm around his waist and looks up at him. “I’m glad you’re moving on. You seem happy.”

“I am happy. Or I’m getting there. I’m still a mess, but I’m getting better.”

She nods. She leaves his side to go into a separate aisle. She comes back with a box of little pink umbrellas to put in cocktails and some cookie cutters shaped in stars. Natasha is the best.

*****

The evening starts out fine. Turns out Bucky is great at making martinis. By the time Becca gets to his apartment, he’s moved on to margaritas which are much better and he’s just as good as making them. He hands her and Mark one while he takes the baby in his arms.

“He’s so big now!” Bucky coos. “Hey, little fella. It’s your uncle Bucky. Hey, how’s it going?”

The baby chuckles and it’s the best sound in the world.

It’s not even weird when Steve shows up. He still fits in fine with Becca and Mark, it’s not like he became a stranger to everyone. Bucky had guessed Becca had stayed vaguely in touch with him after the divorce, he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s only fair. For all his life, they were Steve’s family too.

By seven, Natasha and Clint join them. No one ever mentions the divorce, everyone is still focused on the baby, trying to make him walk over to either of them. It’s familiarly pleasant. It reassures Bucky too. He’s doing well. Steve deserves it. They can do this.

After Becca and Mark head home with a sleeping baby and the guests start to arrive slowly, Bucky turns to his phone to check if anyone is lost on the way. He’s got a couple of texts from Pietro. He eyes Steve from where he’s sitting on the couch. He looks down again.

_This shoot is never ending. I’ve got about five more looks to do. Sorry baby :(_

_See u tmrw? I don’t think I’ll be free before midnight at this rate._

Bucky types back a quick answer: _It’s fine babe, do your thing. Come by whenever tomorrow._

Pietro sends back a couple thumbs up emojis. Bucky locks his phone.

He really shouldn’t feel this relieved that Pietro isn’t coming. He should feel worse about the fact that he’s most definitely not getting laid on his housewarming/birthday party. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want Steve to know about this mess of a relationship he’s building with Pietro. He knows it sounds pathetic, but Steve had Peggy, Steve managed to move on properly. Bucky is just dragging his feet with a really great guy that could be perfect for him. It’s too stupid to share.

He doesn’t have to deal with it now, anyway, because Pietro isn’t coming. He tells Natasha in passing and she looks surprised for a minute but doesn’t add much. She goes back to ribbing Sam about something nerdy he said about the wildlife in New York. They’ve both missed Sam, Bucky can tell. He tries his best to enjoy himself.

The party goes on well enough. The margaritas are a hit. Yelena is pretty drunk by the end of the night, thanks to Natasha and Steve’s made up drinking game. Clint, who has stayed sober the whole night, offers to drive her home. That’s when people start to leave. Soon enough, Sam is hinting that it’s time to call it a night, but Steve shrugs, lets him go first. So, it ends up being just him and Bucky, at 3AM on a Friday night.

It doesn’t feel as awkward as their lunch date did. Maybe it’s the margaritas, maybe it’s because they’re getting used to this weird, new balance between them. They were always friends, it’s not like they’re pretending.

Steve helps clean up, like he cares, like he also lives here. That doesn’t feel right but Bucky lets him. He watches him, standing in the corner of the kitchen, leaning on the counters. Same spot he stood in when Pietro was kissing him silly a couple of days ago. Obviously, Bucky doesn’t mention that.

Steve offers to clean the table too because he’s thoughtful like that. Bucky declines the offer because he doesn’t have to play the maid here.

“Just hand me a sponge, Buck. That wine will stain.”

Bucky sighs. “Ugh. Fine.”

He turns around to grab the sponge in the sink, but Steve is reaching at the same time as him. When Bucky turns to face him again, their faces are inches apart. Bucky feels Steve’s breath on his lips, warm and so tempting. He swallows thickly. The sponge drops into the sink.

“Bucky, I…”

Steve retreats straight away and, goddamn it, Bucky can’t let him. He holds on to Steve’s waist and pulls him right back, even closer. He knows that’s a terrible idea. He just can’t fathom the thought of not going through it anyway.

He presses his lips on Steve’s. It’s an awkward angle, not even a real kiss, just brushing their lips together. Bucky lets Steve decides if he wants it too or if he wants to leave. Bucky’s grip on him isn’t tight. He’d let go the second Steve would move away. Problem is, Steve doesn’t move.

Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s neck and wraps his other arm around him properly. He opens his mouth and lets Bucky in, lets him direct the kiss. Bucky holds on to Steve with both hands, pressing into every inch of him. He’s missed this. He’s missed this so much. Steve’s strong hands and his plush lips, the little sighs he gives Bucky. There’s nothing like it. He never wants to stop.

Bucky finds purchase on the counters and hauls himself up, never breaking the kiss. He opens his legs and takes Steve in, locks him in with his ankles hooked on his back. He wants to feel him, to breathe him in, to remember every single detail of this memory for the rest of his life. Steve is here, in his arms, in his apartment. He can pretend that Steve is still his, even for a night.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs into his neck.

Luckily, he doesn’t stop. He starts to undo Bucky’s shirt buttons, his movements hurried and frantic, his mouth never leaving Bucky’s. Once he manages to pull the shirt off Bucky’s shoulders, he presses both his hands on Bucky’s chest, feeling the skin beneath his fingers with reverence. It’s electrifying. Bucky feels like a work of art.

Bucky leans back against the cupboards, letting Steve touch him, feel him, map him, like this is the first time they’re doing this. It’s been so long that it might as well be. Steve doesn’t waste time, though. He undoes Bucky’s pants, drags down his boxers and pulls out his hardened cock in what almost seems like one swift gesture. Bucky raises his hips to let him undress him completely.

“God, Bucky,” Steve groans. “Look at you. You’re so beautiful.”

Then he’s back on Bucky, kissing him ferociously. He bites on Bucky’s lower lip and the sounds that escape Bucky’s mouth are just filthy. If he was just a bit less drunk, he might have been embarrassed. But it’s only Steve. Steve, who has heard it all from Bucky, from his very first blowjob, to the first time they had anal sex together. There’s nothing to hide from Steve, he knows it all.

There’s something about the way they move against each other. It’s abandon, it’s trust, it’s blinding love. They know each other’s bodies perfectly, like an extension of their own, but the admiration they carry for each other, for every scar, for every blemish that they can pinpoint and recognize, that’s something that they will never find elsewhere. This is only for them. Bucky has craved it without realizing. This intimacy is second to none.

Steve bites on Bucky’s collarbone, Bucky scratches Steve’s shoulder blade. He grabs on Steve’s t-shirt hem with his free hand and pulls it up. They only part so that Bucky can toss it aside.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ears. “I want you so bad, Steve. Come on.”

Steve looks up at him. His eyes are dark and unrelenting. Whatever Bucky will ask next, he knows he’ll get it. That look in Steve’s blue eyes turns something on in Bucky’s inside. He gets like this only in midst of passion, completely and solely focused on Bucky and what he can give to him. Bucky’s throat closes up. They never stopped loving each other. It’s impossible, really, when you love someone this fiercely.

Bucky drops his shirt on the floor as he hops off the kitchen counter. He kicks off his jeans and pulls out his socks. He’s completely naked in front of Steve and he looks at Bucky like he’s the world’s eighth wonder. Steve, though, still has his pants on which is the world’s worst atrocity. Bucky gets rids of his belt, his trousers and pushes on him, directing him toward the bedroom.

Steve snickers. “You in a hurry of some kind, here, Buck?”

Asshole. Bucky chases the words on his lips, pushing him further and further down the hallway. They stop against the back of the couch. Bucky presses Steve on it, feeling his erection rub on his. It feels so good but it’s not enough.

“Come on, Steve, please,” Bucky whines against his mouth.

Steve keeps on kissing him, holding him steady. “I’m here.”

“I want you in there,” Bucky says, pointing towards his bed.

“Yeah.” He kisses him again, drags his mouth towards Bucky’s jaw, where the skin meets his neck, up by his earlobe. “Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” He bites him right there, making Bucky moan with his mouth open.

“Steve,” he groans.

“I’ll give you what you need. Anything, Buck,” he promises.

Bucky finds both of Steve’s hands and entangles their fingers together. He doesn’t let go of his eyes as he pulls him, walking backward, toward his bed. Bucky falls on his back, before Steve joins him, pressing all his weight into him.

They keep on making out, rutting against each other. It’s good but it doesn’t compare to how great things could be. Bucky pushes Steve off, only by a couple of inches. He caresses his cheeks, his brows, his stupid, wonderful nose.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says quietly, “I want you to mean it. Fuck me, Steve. Make me remember.”

Steve growls, rolling his hips against Bucky’s. “The things you do to me, Bucky…I swear to Christ.”

He puts his weight on his elbows, lost in the moment, while Bucky nibbles at his neck, his teeth barely scratching. Bucky rubs his hands all over the planes of Steve’s back. God, he wants him. He wants all of him.

Bucky shifts forward, dragging his erection against Steve’s by accident. They both shudder at the touch. Bucky can’t believe this is already riling him up so much. He fumbles in his drawers for the lube and tosses it to Steve.

Steve takes it and starts to kiss a trail down Bucky’s body. He wraps a hand around Bucky’s cock and starts stroking lazily. Bucky whines and whimpers and pants. He feels so sensitive. Steve can play him like a piano. He hasn’t felt so good since the last time Steve was on him in that way. It feels like years, maybe it has been years.

When Steve finally pushes a finger in Bucky, he clenches around it, almost taken by surprise. Steve still has Bucky’s cock in his other hand and gives it a couple of soothing strokes. It feels great, but it’s still not enough.

“Steve,” he tries to sound demanding, but he knows he’s just whimpering at this point.

Steve has a wan smile. “I haven’t done this in a while, Bucky. I don’t want to hurt you.”

What? Bucky manages to pull his two brain cells together to push on his elbows and look at Steve. “Do you mean you haven’t had sex since…me?”

Steve kisses Bucky’s raised knee, blushing a little. Fucking adorable. “I meant. Like this.”

“With another man?” Bucky suddenly realizes. “You haven’t fucked other guys?”

He feels a little guilty, a little ashamed, to have done this with countless people by now. This isn’t anything that Steve would care about. But to Bucky, the fact that Steve hasn’t been with any other man makes him feel very special.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky goes on when Steve doesn’t start moving his finger. “It’s like riding a bike. You can’t forget. Besides,” Bucky grinds his hips forward, taking Steve's finger in just a little deeper, “I’m sure I can help.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” Steve curses under his breath.

Then, finally, after what feels like a century, Steve presses a second finger, stretching Bucky carefully, like he’s fragile, like he hasn’t done this a million times before. Bucky sighs, feeling that delicate burn. He waits, he lets Steve takes his time, take him in, reacquaint himself with Bucky’s body. It’s true, they got time.

Steve was always like this, determined to make Bucky feel something good, accept that he could have that, that he deserved it even. It’s otherworldly, to have someone so hellbent on proving to Bucky that he’s worth everything.

Steve slicks himself up next, breathing hard, and Bucky can’t wait. He pushes himself into the touch. Luckily, his brain shakes itself awake and he stills Steve with a hand on his stomach.

“Wait.”

“Something wrong?” Steve’s eyes are dark, but Bucky knows that with the slightest look, Steve will drop everything.

“No, uh. This is going to be awkward…But you need to wear a condom.”

Steve has a puzzled look on his stupid, beautiful face but he nods anyway.

“It’s not you,” Bucky assures. “I trust you. It’s…You don’t know what I’ve been doing. You should be safe.”

Admitting that he’s been sleeping around is what Bucky can believe would kill the mood, but Steve doesn’t comment. He doesn’t care, Bucky is sure of that now. The strength that Steve has is immeasurable. It comes with forgiveness too.

Bucky tosses him the condom and finally, _finally_ , Steve pushes in. Bucky all but howls. This. This is what he missed the most. This is what he needed in his life. Steve, buried deep inside of him, bending Bucky almost in half, taking him in, pushing Bucky’s legs up on his shoulders. Steve grunts, rolling his hips, pausing a second, his eyes tightly shut. Bucky loves him. He loves him so much. He can’t even tell him. How stupid is that? He’s ridiculous.

“Steve,” he says instead and it’s enough. Steve knows.

“I’m here,” he replies shakily, “I’m here.”

He starts to push Bucky down, drilling into him in earnest. Bucky can’t think straight anymore. He can’t focus on anything else but Steve’s strong biceps, the way his abs ripple, the sweat collecting at his forehead, glistening on his whole body. He’s so beautiful. What a sculpture of a man he has in front of him, inside him. His. Steve was his.

Bucky starts making these sounds, little _oh, oh, oh_. He’s so close. Steve knows too because there’s nothing he hasn’t learned by heart about Bucky’s body. He finds Bucky’s dick and starts jerking him off just the way Bucky needs. He comes with a shout, Steve pressing right against his prostate, pressing his whole body against his, capturing every inch of him. Bucky can’t even catch his breath. He pants, his mouth slack. He’s shaking all over.

“Steve,” he repeats, like a prayer. “Steve.”

“You’re so good, Buck. You’re so good for me. God, Bucky.”

Steve slams right into him, as deep as he can go. Bucky asked for this. Steve gives him everything, every time. Bucky can’t believe how lucky he is, how gone he is for this man. He’s the best there is, and he loves Bucky like that? Impossible.

Bucky feels how close Steve is. He moves, just slightly, contracting a little, and Steve gasps, comes in an instant. Bucky feels so warm, so full. There is nothing that can compare to this feeling. Steve presses down, not even pulling out and yeah, Bucky will remember this in the morning.

Bucky strokes Steve’s damp hair gently. He presses little kisses on his forehead. Steve doesn’t move an inch. It’s only comfortable for another minute or so. Bucky nudges him towards the side. Steve grunts but goes anyway, puling out his softening dick out of Bucky’s ass slowly. Suddenly, he feels so cold.

Steve gets up, waddles over to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He brings back a damp towel that he uses to clean Bucky’s stomach. Bucky hums but doesn’t move, lets Steve do this for him. Steve pushes him to the side so he can get the lube off his ass cheeks. It’s so gentle and familiar, Bucky feels like crying again.

“You ok, baby?” Steve asks, because Bucky must be crying now.

“Yeah, I’m great. Just come here,” he pats the space behind his back. “Hold me and tell me I’m pretty, I don’t know.”

Steve chuckles but does just that. Bucky wouldn’t trade this for the world.

*****

Bucky wakes up because of unusual snoring. It takes him a full minute to realize it’s because he didn’t kick Steve out last night and now, his ex-husband is lying on his back and snoring up like a lawnmower.

Bucky can’t think of any reason why he would have missed this and yet there he is.

He grunts. Usually, it’s Steve who wakes up first, goes running or whatever insane thing it is that morning people do, then by the time that Bucky sort of awakes, he’s back in bed, cuddling his big and freshly showered body right behind Bucky. So, it must mean it’s only ass o’clock.

He rolls around and finds his phone by the bedside table. There’s a text from Pietro, waiting for him. But it’s 5:47 AM, so this is a mess that afternoon Bucky will deal with.

He turns to Steve’s snoring form. He has his hand on his heart and his stupidly plush lips slightly apart as he’s doing his best impression of a broken motor.

Bucky has indulged so far. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

Bucky finds Steve’s right arm by his other side and pulls him forward until he’s on his side. Then, Bucky wraps himself in the parenthesis of his body, nudging his legs against Steve’s. No one has to talk about this. No one will know except for him. Until Steve wakes up at 6:30 like the world’s most deranged robot, Bucky can pretend his drunk-self fitted himself in his arms and fell asleep like that.

But Steve does love to ruin Bucky’s plans.

“Morning,” Steve says by his ear, catching his lobe in between his teeth. Cheap shot.

Bucky shuts his eyes furiously. He could have done this half asleep. These things happen.

“It’s too early for this, Rogers. Let me sleep.”

Steve nuzzles at his neck. “Alright,” he says, kissing his way down Bucky’s shoulder. “You just lie there, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky shivers. It shouldn’t be this easy to get him riled up.

“Steve,” he says with his most threatening voice, but it does come out too breathy, like he’s into it and can’t wait for more.

“Yeah, baby? I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Steve’s hands move, his left to take one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the other to slide under his boxer shorts. Bucky moans, only slightly. For how great it feels, it’s still too early for this. And he’s gross.

“Brush your teeth first, at least,” he manages to mumble. “Treat a guy right.”

Steve has a low chuckle. “You want to make out, Buck? Is that what it is?”

Bucky squirms away. “I need a shower.”

“You are very sweaty,” Steve admits.

“Yeah? Whose fault is this? You’re a fucking furnace. Why do you run so hot?”

Steve holds on to him tighter. “You never used to complain.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh because that’s a fucking bold lie, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve presses another kiss in the crook of his neck before he pushes upwards.

He gets up and the bed feels too big. Bucky lays on his back, listening to Steve rummage in the bathroom for the spare toothbrushes. How does he even know where Bucky keeps them? He seems to find them anyway, because he comes back in the bedroom with one stuck in his mouth and he hands Bucky his own.

“What’s the point of this?” Bucky groans. “Still have to get up.”

“Want me to carry you there, baby?” Steve mocks, his words muffled by the brushing.

“I don’t even understand you. Always talking with your mouth full, Jesus.”

Bucky still stuffs the toothbrush in his mouth and starts to brush his teeth. He’s awake now, might as well.

Steve goes back in the bathroom. Bucky follows him there. The domesticity of it all doesn’t even shock him. They’ve done this for so long.

When Bucky sees Steve by the sink, staring at his own mouth in the mirror, he can’t help finding his place by his side. Bucky snakes an arm on Steve’s waist, rests his head on his shoulder. Steve switches hands, to have a free one rest in Bucky’s hair, working his fingers into his scalp.

Steve spits out, rinses his mouth, puts the toothbrush down. He looks right at Bucky, combing his hair back.

“It’s nice like this,” he comments. “Haven’t seen you with hair this short in years.”

“Needed a change,” Bucky says with a shrug once he spits out all the toothpaste.

They look at each other for a second or two before Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist.

“Do I pass inspection now?”

Bucky considers him, looking at his messy hair and his pretty blue eyes. He’s so goddamn beautiful, right there, offering himself like nothing has changed, like he loves Bucky just as much as ever.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re ok, Rogers.”

Steve bends his head just an inch, to meet Bucky’s lips. No one should be this sexy, this early, but there here is Steve Rogers. Bucky is lost in his embrace. He holds onto Steve’s shoulders. He lets Steve push him against the sink, pressing into him with all his weight.

Steve fits a leg in between Bucky’s thighs. Bucky lets out a whine. Steve swallows it.

“What do you need, baby?” Steve says, a little breathless, kissing behind Bucky’s ear.

“Steve,” Bucky only moans.

“Just tell me. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky groans. Steve is too good for him. Bucky hooks his hands to Steve’s sweatpants. “I still need a shower. I’m gross. I want these off,” he holds on to the waistband and shakes it. “Where did you even find these?”

“Never thought these were too big for you? These are mine, Buck.”

Bucky pushes Steve away, if only for an inch. “What?” He’s been wearing these for months.

“Yeah. You don’t wear these. They’re mine. They can’t fit you.”

“I like loose loungewear.”

Steve laughs at that. “Yeah, Buck. My loungewear,” he says with an eye-roll. He starts peppering kisses down Bucky’s chest again. “You’ve been stealing my clothes since we got back to the States. So, what’s that? Twelve years?”

“You packed it!” He grumbles. “You were the one doing the boxes.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking up at Bucky, his face too close to Bucky’s nipple for comfort. “Believe it or not, I was a bit distracted, then.”

“I still want to shower,” Bucky huffs to change the subject.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, his hands suddenly on Bucky’s boxers. “Fine by me.”

Bucky pushes his hips forward and lets Steve discard his underwear. He’s half hard already and the look on Steve’s face as he stares down really help get it all the way there. Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s length and strokes him slowly. A moan escapes Bucky’s lips.

Steve doesn’t let go as he crowds Bucky’s space again. They’re so close, every single inch of Bucky’s skin is covered by Steve. He hides his face in Steve’s neck and whimpers when Steve flicks his wrist just so. It’s unfair, really, to have sex with someone that knows his body so well. Steve can play him like a well-tuned violin. Nothing can compare to the history of touches between them.

Steve nudges Bucky towards the shower, one of his hand on Bucky’s cock, the other on the small of his back, wrapping him completely into his body. Bucky has missed this like he’s missed air in his lungs. It’s like he can breathe again. Steve finds his mouth, parts Bucky’s lips easily and deepens the kiss in that way that makes Bucky’s whole body light up. His moans get louder.

“You close?” Steve rasps in his ear. “You’re going to come for me?”

Holy hell. Bucky pants, his back now against the shower wall. He rubs his hands on Steve’s back, his hips, pulling him closer, grasping for more contact. He realizes Steve got rid of his sweatpants at some point when his hands travel down to Steve’s bare ass.

“Steve, please,” he says, and he hopes his voice sounds whimpering only to him.

“Tell me,” Steve continues. “What do you want?”

It takes all of Bucky’s strength to arrange enough of his brain cells to speak. “I want you,” he manages.

“How? Use your words, Buck,” Steve all but commands. And goddamn if that’s not the hottest thing.

Steve pulls away, just an inch or two, stills his hand on Bucky’s dick and uses the other to turn the shower on. Bucky thanks every god for amazing water pressure as warm water sprinkles down on their mingled bodies. Steve pulls Bucky’s wet hair away from his forehead with so much fondness on his face.

“This really does suit you,” he comments again, rubbing his thumb on Bucky’s forehead.

Bucky moves his hips upwards, fucking himself into Steve’s fist. “Steve, come on,” he blurts out. “I want your mouth. Please.”

Steve’s face lights up so bright. He even has a little chuckle, almost shy. For someone this into dirty talk, he blushes very easily. Bucky can’t believe he forgot that. The pink hue that spreads from his cheeks to his throat, to his chest. Affection strangles his heart. Nothing has changed. Bucky loves him the same.

Steve pulls back again and isn’t that just plain torture? He reaches for Bucky’s body wash and squirts it in his palm.

“Let me do this for you,” he says gently. “I’ll give you what you need, Buck, I promise. Let me take care of you.”

That’s always been Steve’s line. He never meant anything else by that but sex. It had been a thing to learn for Bucky, learn how to let himself go, to enjoy things. To let himself be treated carefully, like he deserved the attention, like he was worthy of that love. It was always something Steve picked up on, how Bucky retreated into himself, shutting him out. Steve would say, so gently, so calmly, “let me,” and Bucky would. God forgive him, he always did.

Steve lathers Bucky’s body in soap. His touch is more caresses than anything else. He’s so careful but he puts some strength into it, letting Bucky feel his hands on him. He’s nothing but melting flesh under Steve's fingers. He stares at him intently, the way Steve’s brows furrow, the way his mouth is tight in concentration, like he’s also thinking about memorizing every single detail, like he doesn’t know Bucky’s body enough.

Bucky holds on to Steve’s waist. Steve is hard too, painfully so. Bucky gives him a little stroke and Steve sighs happily. Those sounds…How much Bucky missed hearing that. Steve’s eyes are half closed. He repositions Bucky under the shower head, to rinse him off. It’s so intimate, a lot more than sex is, it breaks Bucky heart all over again. He won’t have this again. This reverence for his body, this adoring look that only Steve can give. Like there’s nothing of Bucky he won’t take, whether broken or brilliant.

Then, to top it all off, Steve drops to his knees. Bucky feels so weak. Steve looks up to him with wet eyelashes before he swallows Bucky whole. Bucky can’t help it, he gasps, he shouts. He’s so close already. He wraps a hand in Steve’s hair, holding on, not moving him in any direction. Steve’s cheeks hollow and he sucks him off in earnest. It’s good, it’s so good. Bucky falls against the wall a bit more.

“Steve, oh god,” he moans, “baby. I’m not…You’re so good...Jesus.”

Steve pulls out. “It’s ok, Buck. I don’t care.”

Steve is so perfect. Bucky has never deserved this much. Steve gave him his heart and his soul, and he would do it again a thousand times over. He doesn’t need words to say that. Bucky knows.

Because Steve knows exactly what Bucky likes, what sets him off, he wraps a hand around Bucky’s length, tight around the base, the other under Bucky’s balls. Bucky is gone. He comes with a shout that surprises even him. Steve doesn’t let go. He holds on to Bucky, looks right at him with his blue eyes, so intense, so beautiful.

Bucky strokes Steve’s jaw as he releases him. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous. Baby, come here. Steve…,” he catches himself before he can ruin the moment. He loves him. He loves him so much.

“I’m here,” Steve says as he gets up. “I’m right here, Buck.”

Bucky takes him back into his hand and starts jerking him off in earnest. Bucky manages to pull out the sweetest sounds from Steve. He’s holding on Bucky’s neck, his breath hot on Bucky’s skin. Bucky squeezes his ass, slides a hand down his crack, presses a thumb on his hole. He can guess that’s not something Steve got from Peggy. He feels almost smug. This is just for Bucky.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come as well, right into Bucky’s hand. Bucky wishes he could imprint this right in his memory, the way Steve’s body tenses, the way he gasps. Take it all in, make a mental album, replay it anytime he wants.

Bucky rinses his hand in the stream and reaches for the soap again. He hands it to Steve and goes about his own business. Steve has the dopiest smile on his face. Bucky hopes he’s managing to keep at least a semi stern expression as he scrubs his body down. There are red marks all over his chest, he notices, from Steve’s beard. He looks like he’s being mauled.

“You’re proud of yourself, huh?”

Steve smirks, rinses himself off and goes out of the shower. Bucky watches him drying himself off, pulling the sweatpants back on and trot away happily, like he owns the place. Bucky is definitely going back to sleep. It is way too early for this shit.

*****

Bucky wakes up for the second time that morning dreadfully. His body aches everywhere. It’s not the worse he’s ever felt, but his head is woozy, his bones feel heavy. Being old sucks. He can’t believe he’s supposed to be thirty-five. Sounds like a scam.

It takes him a second to connect the dots as to why there’s Steve asleep on his chest. He can’t exactly be angry. He’s done this. He kissed him, asked him to fuck him and then demanded a blowjob in the shower. Least he could do was to let Steve sleep for a while. He scratches at Steve’s forehead and is happy to see him follow the touch, even though he’s definitely dead asleep. Some things don’t change.

His mind focuses again. He woke up because of something. He strains his ear and can hear some buzzing. Oh, his phone. His phone is ringing. He reaches out for it by his bedside table. And, fuck, it’s Pietro. He swallows. He told him to come over whenever, didn’t he? Idiot. He obviously forgot about that when he started to seduce Steve all over again.

He rolls off the bed to pick up the call in the living room. He closes the door behind him and hopes that Steve won’t hear any of this. That sort of conversation isn’t meant to be had at this time. Bucky looks at his phone again. 9:57. Very early for Pietro. Odd.

Bucky unlocks it quickly. “Hello?”

“Bucky?” Pietro answers hurriedly, “I’ve been buzzing your door for half an hour, what are you doing?”

Oh, no. Oh, fuck.

“You’re outside?”

“Yeah. Did you just wake up?”

Bucky stretches his neck. He’s so sore, too. Fuck. “Well, yeah. It’s Saturday. What are you doing up so early?”

On the line, Pietro has a deep sigh. “Can you just let me in? It’s fucking freezing.”

Bucky considers his options. Option one, letting Pietro in. Pietro sees the sight of him, gets that he’s been fucking someone else, he leaves. Likeliness; very low. Option two, not letting Pietro in. Pietro accepts, leaves, never talks about it again and they keep doing whatever they’ve been doing. Likeliness; abysmal. Option three, he covers up, makes as little noise as possible, tell Pietro he’ll meet him later and Steve never finds out. Likeness; the highest so far.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” he grumbles.

He hangs up the phone without waiting for Pietro’s answer. New problem, all his clothes are in the bedroom. Luckily, he first notices all of Steve’s clothes spread everywhere. He picks it all, dumps it all in his laundry basket in the bathroom then walks as quietly as he can back into the bedroom. His phone vibrates again. Alright, fuck, he’s coming.

He opens a drawer and pulls out a long sleeve black t-shirt and some grey cotton shorts. He puts it on as quickly as he can, rearranges his hair to look a little bit less like he got fucked last night and goes to buzz Pietro in. Steve is still asleep. He can do this.

As soon as Bucky opens the door, Pietro presses a kiss on Bucky’s mouth. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night. His pupils are also very dilated. His hair is a mess, which is the real tell, there.

“Hey, baby. You smell good,” he says rubbing his nose in Bucky’s neck. Bucky is pretty sure he smells just like Steve.

“Are you high?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet.

Pietro shrugs. “No, definitely coming down now.”

He stretches his back, pulling his arms high above his head. He’s wearing a slim fitted black leather jacket and ripped black jeans that are doing wonders for his ass. Bucky is focused, though, so he ignores that for a second.

Pietro sprawls out on Bucky’s sofa, kicking off his boots, grabbing a pillow and getting comfortable. He closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek on the soft fabric of Bucky’s brand-new designer pillows. “Come and laid down with me, baby. I’m so tired.”

“No, come on,” Bucky huffs, “you just woke me up, I’m not sleeping again.”

Pietro opens one eye. “Are you mad because I missed the party? I was working.”

“No,” Bucky says, trying to make his voice quiet, just so Pietro will do the same, “I’m fine, I was tired. Did you come straight from work?”

“Why are we whispering?” Pietro whispers back with a smirk. He opens one arm. “Come here, Bucky, I’ll make it up to you.”

Bucky swallows. He didn’t plan for this. Pietro is looking at him with his goofy smile, the same face he made all night at the New Year’s party. He’s ridiculous but he’s also adorable.

“Some work you have,” Bucky comments quietly, “the photographers and the models all high too?”

“Baby, don’t be so old, please,” Pietro whines, “come on. I love this sofa.” He rubs his face some more on the fabric. He seems to realize he’s wearing too many clothes and shrugs off his jacket and nope. Nope, nope, nope.

“I have to meet Becca,” Bucky lies. That’s the first thing that came to his mind and even him can hear how stupid it sounds.

“Right now?” Pietro asks, seeing right through him,“I thought I woke you up and got you all grumpy.”

He takes his t-shirt off and goddamn it, this is so embarrassing. If Steve wakes up right now…Bucky exhales deeply. Pietro gets back up and holds on to Bucky’s shorts’ elastic band.

“I’ll put you in a better mood, how about that?”

Bucky clears his throat. Pietro is very close. His long fingers stroke at the sensitive skin, by his stomach. Pietro has a devilish smile.

“Yeah, I think you’d like that.”

Apparently, Bucky has all the strength in the world because he pushes back Pietro. He completely ignores the naked, taunt skin under his fingers. “I can see you later, but not now. Alright? I have to go. Soon. I’ll meet you at your place.”

Pietro licks his lips, studying his face for a second or two. “You’re sure you’re not mad about the party?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I told you, I understand. You were there on my real birthday, right? That was even better.”

“Ok. Alright. Sorry for intruding, I guess.”

He moves away but Bucky catches his fingers. This is the worst possible situation but it’s not Pietro’s fault. “I told you to come. I, uh, forgot about the thing with Becca. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, ok? Have some water. You look dehydrated.”

Pietro perks up. “Is that an order, sir?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You should sleep more, too. You look like shit.”

Bucky retrieves Pietro’s shirt and throws it his way. He disappears into the kitchen and Bucky hears the faucet running. At least, he’s obeying that. Bucky should have thought twice about dating a fashion hairdresser in New York.

He sits down on the couch. He puts Pietro’s boots neatly by the leg of the sofa and sits back. He feels a hand in his hair and turns around to hurry Pietro up when he realizes that it’s Steve’s hand.

Oh, no. Oh, fucking fuck.

“Uh, Steve.”

“Hey,” he replies with a smile. He hasn’t seen Pietro’s jacket on the floor yet. Nor the boots. Nor the man. Oh, fuck.

“Ok, Steve, uh,” Bucky tries, swallowing his own tongue. Why does he drink? What is he doing with his life? “Listen. Don’t get freaked out.”

“Baby!” Pietro calls loudly from the kitchen. “You didn’t like the cake?”

Oh, holy shitting fuck.

Steve’s eyes turn to the kitchen. Steve is not wearing a shirt. Steve is wearing sweatpants. This is…the worst day of Bucky’s life.

Pietro comes out with two forks in one hand, the plate with the cake he got Bucky for his birthday in the other, barefoot, obviously very at home too. He has put his t-shirt back on. Small mercy. Bucky puts his head in his hands. There’s nothing that will make this suck less.

“Pietro?” Steve tries.

Pietro narrows his eyes. “Steve? The fuck you’re doing here?”

Oh, no. Oh, God.

“What? What are _you_ doing here?”

Bucky turns around reluctantly. Steve has both hands on his hips, a deep frown on his judging face. He looks sleep rumpled and is very obviously topless. Pietro is staring at him just as hardly, a little disgusted.

Pietro scowls. “You had to meet Becca, huh?” he says, looking at Bucky.

Bucky has the deepest exhale. He could very well much be having a panic attack here. “I forgot. I forgot that I texted you last night. I’m sorry.”

Pietro throws the cake down on the table with the forks. It clatters and no one else moves. Pietro shoves his shoes back on and takes his jacket.

“Don’t worry about it, Bucky. It’s fine. We don’t have rules, right?” He smiles a little and Bucky’s heart aches for him. “You’re the expert, baby. You said it yourself.”

He comes over to the sofa where Bucky is sitting, pulls Bucky’s chin toward him, while locking eyes with Steve, he presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s mouth. This is so fucked up. Bucky groans.

“Pietro…,” he tries.

“Call me later, baby. After you’ve done with Becca.”

He closes the door softly behind him, doesn’t even slam it. Maybe he’s not that angry. Also, he was right, they don’t have rules. They’re not exclusive. What does it matter that Bucky had sex with his ex-husband last night? Pietro doesn’t know that Bucky is still madly in love with him.

“Want to explain what that was about?” Steve growls behind him.

Bucky groans again. “So, you know Pietro, obviously.”

“Ain’t he a bit young for you, Buck?”

And isn’t that even more fucked up than the whole situation? “What the fuck?”

Bucky turns around to stare at Steve. He only shrugs, not meeting his eyes, crossing his arms on his chest.

“He’s what, Lizzie’s age? He’s a kid, Bucky. What are you even doing with me if you’re seeing him?” Steve mutters.

“Oh, this is…just…Great. First of all, he’s twenty-seven, he’s an adult. And I am not…seeing him. This is…Also, by the way, this is none of your business. What do you think, just because you fucked me last night, we’re all good? We can go right back to the city hall and get married again?”

Steve exhales sharply. “That’s how it is, then?”

Bucky can’t help it but he’s furious now. “Yeah! That was always what it would be! We can’t fix this with sex. It doesn’t work like that. We haven’t seen each other in almost a year. I just…I forgot myself, alright? I made a mistake. That’s all there is.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve snarls. “And this morning? Another mistake? You want this too, Bucky. What the fuck are you doing with Pietro, of all people?”

Bucky rubs at his eyes angrily. “It is none of your business! You’re not my husband anymore. You’re barely my friend! Stay out of it.”

“So, you’re just fucking, but he comes to your apartment unannounced, buys you a birthday cake, calls you _baby_?”

“Once again!” Bucky exclaims, “None of your fucking business!”

Steve nods to himself, pacing around, staring at the treacherous cake on the table. Bucky knows, alright, he can see very well that Pietro is getting too attached. One person he doesn’t want to hear it from is definitely Steve.

“Last night, this morning, meant nothing then?”

Bucky sighs. “Just fucking go home, Steve. I don’t want to do this now.”

“You’re going to see Pietro after this? How is it going to feel like having him after you had me?”

Oh, this is just…Icing on his fucked-up birthday cake.

“Steve, I swear to God…If you don’t get the fuck out right now.”

Bucky stands up suddenly and heads to the bathroom. He finds Steve’s clothes from the hamper and dumps them towards him. “There! Take your fucking sweatpants, too and fuck off!”

Steve stares at him dumbly. He blinks a couple of times before he picks up his t-shirt. “So, you’re just going to run away again? That’s it?”

“Yes!” Bucky yells, retreating in the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. “And guess what! There’s nothing you can do about it, so leave me the fuck alone and get out!”

Bucky flops down on his bed. Isn’t that some shit. He’s thrumming with rage. He hears the door open again and he gets up like he’s possessed with fury.

“Steve,” he warns.

But Steve is quicker than him, pouncing, almost throwing him right against the wall. And, well, Bucky is still incredibly angry, but this is the type of shit that gets him going too.

“This,” Steve growls lowly, pressing right into Bucky’s groin with his own. “This, means nothing then?”

“Steve,” Bucky says strongly. He’s got both hands on Steve’s chest. He could definitely push him off and be done with it, but he doesn’t. He stares right at Steve. “You think you own me? You think I’m yours?”

A low rumble escapes Steve’s throat. It makes his whole bare chest vibrates under Bucky’s fingers. “I think,” he punctuates his words with shallow rolls of hips, flush against Bucky’s. “That I ruined you. That now, whenever you’re with someone else. You’re going to think. About me, instead.”

Bucky wants to protest, wants to fight Steve with all he’s got, prove him wrong, kick him out. But he’s so pissed off, he can’t even see straight. All he sees is Steve’s mouth and his goddamn stubbornness. He won’t let Bucky go. 

Bucky moves his hands to grab onto Steve’s neck and smashes their mouths together. It’s a kiss just as awkward as last night but it doesn’t matter. Steve gets in with the program fast enough.

Bucky opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. Steve grips onto him with both his hands, hard enough to bruise. Bucky chases contact with every inch of his body. They only part for half a second so that Bucky can throw his shirt on the floor.

“Fuck you, Steve,” Bucky says with good measure. He means it, too. It might not wear as much weight as he’d like because he goes right back to kissing him, but the feeling is there.

“I don’t think that’s what you want,” Steve declares mildly, his eyes so, so dark. He gets a hand into Bucky’s shorts, grabbing his dick with a firm hand. Bucky lets out an embarrassing moan. It’s too easy. It’s not fair. “I think I oughta fuck you again.”

Bucky groans, turning his face away from Steve. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, give it to me.”

Steve kisses him again, just as hard and biting as before. Then, he turns Bucky around and presses him against the wall with his own body. He puts one hand on Bucky’s neck, keeping his face still and the other takes his shorts off. Bucky whimpers pitifully.

“You should see yourself, Buck. You drive me fucking insane.”

Steve’s big hand spreads Bucky apart. He rubs a thumb against Bucky’s hole, and he shivers, he can’t help it. He wants this. He’s never wanted anything as badly as this.

“You’re not going to be able to think about anything else than my cock for a week. You hear me?”

“Steve,” Bucky isn’t afraid to beg now. He feels like he will drown if he doesn’t have this, right this minute.

Steve breaks the moment for a second and has the audacity to have a little chuckle, like Bucky is the one being ridiculous. “I know, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

But he does let go. Bucky slides down the wall a little now that no one is holding him up. He whines, looking to his side where Steve is retrieving the lube. Steve isn’t smiling anymore. He’s still wearing the sweatpants, but his erection is still very visible. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Bucky assures him, a little because he means it, a little to rile Steve up.

“No?” Steve taunts. He pushes Bucky right up the wall again. Bucky hears him slick up his fingers. “Want me to go, then? Want to pretend you’re not begging for my cock, right now?”

Bucky is about to protest when Steve presses two fingers into him. He yells out a curse instead. It hurts in the best way possible and Bucky wants more. He wants everything.

“Does he give you what you need?” Steve goes on, his voice low and raspy. Bucky shivers. “Does he take care of you like I do?”

He fucks Bucky on his fingers fast and hard. Bucky whines some more.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“Steve.” He repeats it with every breath. His own erection is painful now.

Steve finally stops. Bucky hears a condom being ripped off, more lube being poured and. Oh, yes. Steve pushes right in. Bucky, even as angry as he is, lets himself be taken by Steve.

There is no more carefulness and light brushes of fingers. Steve is marking Bucky in the only way he knows how. He’s slamming into Bucky with every thrust, pressing all his fingers into his skin angrily. Bucky should protest, at least pretend to, but he can’t. Steve’s rage is white hot. It’s just as submerging as the love he can give. Nothing can ever stand in his way.

Bucky already feels the familiar warmth building in his stomach. He arches his back, tries to feel as much as Steve as he can. He scrambles to hold to something, anything at all but there’s only the wall. He presses even more against it. Steve doesn’t stop. He grunts loudly, breathing hard. Bucky wants to turn around and look at him. Stare at the furrows in his brow as he’s working Bucky over. The way his eyes turn the darkest shade of blue. Swallow his moans on his tongue.

“Steve,” Bucky manages in between gasps. “Steve.”

Steve doesn’t understand. He moves his hand to move to Bucky’s dick. It doesn’t take much to have Bucky come right over his hand. Bucky himself is surprised. He groans loudly. His whole body sheds all its weight. But that’s not what he wanted.

“I want to see you,” he says after a second.

Steve stills his hips. He catches his breath. “Ok,” is all he answers. “Ok, Buck.”

He pulls out delicately and Bucky can tell the second Steve’s anger vanished. He’s too easy to read.

He gathers Bucky in his arms and gently pulls him down on the bed. It only takes a second for Steve to find his way back into his body. Bucky gasps. Everything feels too sensitive but this, this is what he wants to give to Steve.

Bucky finds Steve’s jaw and draws the outline of it with his fingers. He’s so beautiful. Right here, carved in marble, right in his arms. He kisses him softly at first, because that’s all he can manage at this point, but then Steve takes the lead and it’s just as brutal as before. Steve presses his forehead against Bucky, rolling his hips, just so. It’s so right. He makes these noises, half breath, half moan, then he presses his lips together and stills and Bucky feels him come inside of him. For a second, he wishes they didn’t have to use condoms so he could feel how Steve filled him up.

They don’t move for what feels like a long time. It could just have been seconds. Bucky feels drunk. There’s nothing else like this feeling. Doesn’t mean he should indulge any more, especially when he shouldn’t have in the first place.

He pushes Steve off and rolls to one side of the bed, under the covers. “I still mean it,” he declares, already half asleep and objectively disgusting. It’s fine, he can just wash the sheets later.

Steve huffs. He’s still out of breath. Bucky pats himself on the back for that. Steve disappears into the bathroom then comes back to clean Bucky up too. Always so thoughtful. How unfair.

“Sure, Buck,” Steve says as he settles by Bucky, kissing his shoulder. “Whatever you say.”


	8. Nuclear Option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all Bucky loves Natasha, it’s hard to get through to her sometimes.
> 
> “People break up and then have sex after a while and it means nothing. People do that.”
> 
> Natasha hums.
> 
> “It’s a thing, it doesn’t mean that they’re going to get back together. It’s nostalgia or whatever.”
> 
> “Is that what it is?”
> 
> Bucky refills both their wines stubbornly. “You know, for someone who claims to have no interest in my love life, you sure do have a lot of thoughts.” He takes a big sip, not looking at her.
> 
> “Yeah, divorced people sleep with each other and even their new boyfriends are fine with it.”

When Bucky wakes up for the third time that day, his body feels like it’s falling apart. Also, Steve is gone so that comfort isn’t there. Not that it would feel as good as it did when he first woke up, but whatever.

Bucky is glad that Steve is not here, though. He is still angry at him for barging into his life like that. Sure, technically he was invited back into Bucky’s life, but he had no right to set up camp and pretend he had never been gone.

Bucky finds his phone and thinks about blocking Steve’s phone number again. It’s a very childish thought, in all honesty, but it would make his life so much easier.

Instead, Bucky opens Pietro’s texts. He cringes. He has to apologize. He has to fix this, somehow.

The texts are mostly pictures. There’s one of Pietro in the bathroom, probably slightly high already, his hair slicked back, and his lips kiss bitten. His eyes are wide and a bit glassy. He looks good.

_Wasting a good hair day on work :(_

That was sent at 2:39AM. Probably at the time Bucky kissed Steve. Bucky pushes that thought very far down his mind.

The second picture is one of Bucky. He’s never seen this picture before. He’s asleep, his mouth half open, an arm thrown across his eyes. Bucky doesn’t know what to think about this. He has no idea when this picture was taken. That’s a testimony of how many nights he’s spent in Pietro’s bed. And he still went ahead and had sex with Steve…What the hell is wrong with him?

The third and fourth are just the usual pictures of shoots that Pietro sends Bucky. The only difference is there’s a model pulling her tongue out in a grimace both times. Bucky wonders for a minute if she’s sleeping with Pietro. Not that he could argue with that, with what he’s done, but still. Pietro definitely has sex with other people, Bucky has been sure of that since they started seeing each other. It’s not a big deal, they’re not exclusive. Somehow, he also guesses that doesn’t mean nearly as much to Pietro as sleeping with Steve again did to Bucky.

He sighs. He’ll give it a day before he calls Pietro. He can cool off and Bucky can gather his thoughts, figure out an apology. Figure himself out, maybe, in the process. Although that would take a lot longer than one day, he’s sure.

*****

Bucky waits until a time he thinks Pietro would be more inclined to hear him out. Given that it’s a Sunday, he’s probably hungover. Bucky almost hopes he didn’t go out to drown his sorrows in alcohol. Although, knowing Pietro, he never needs sorrows to go out and enjoy himself. It doesn’t matter. Either way, he waits until it’s after two and gets sent right to voicemail for his trouble.

He deserved it. Probably. He doesn’t give up though and sends a couple of texts.

_Can I see you? I want to apologize. I really don’t want to do this over the phone. Let me know._

He hopes he doesn’t sound like an asshole. He knows he is definitely in the wrong and he’ll be lucky if Pietro wants to give him another chance, but he can’t help being a little irritated. They’re not a couple. Why does he have to grovel like this?

He bangs his head against his bed’s headboard. So, he doesn’t just sound like asshole, he also is an asshole.

It takes about fifteen more minutes of Bucky feeling sorry for himself until his phone buzzes by his thigh. He picks it up gently, like the message might self destruct if he’s not careful enough.

 _Come over_ , is all that Pietro gives him.

Bucky exhales deeply. He gives himself a little more time until he picks himself up and goes to get dressed. This will suck but he owes Pietro a lot more than an half assed apology. He’s very lucky he’s even afforded the chance to give one. If the roles were reversed, he doesn’t know what he would have done.

*****

When he gets to Pietro and Wanda’s apartment, she’s the one to open the door for him. Bucky clears his throat awkwardly, trying his best to look repentant.

“Hey,” he greets weakly.

“What are you doing here?” Wanda retorts immediately.

Well. He had expected Pietro to tell her about Steve, but it’s still sucks to have to face Wanda too. And he hasn’t even told Natasha yet. That’s going to be just as fun.

“Uh, I,” he starts.

He’s interrupted by Pietro opening the door of his bedroom and meeting them in the hallway. He says something quietly in Sokovian to Wanda. She raises an eyebrow but steps away so that Bucky can come in.

“Hey,” he says again, meeting Pietro’s eyes.

Pietro looks good. Not tired, not hungover, not heartbroken. His hair is freshly washed, still a little damp. He’s wearing the sweatpants Bucky borrowed that one time, the straight legged ones. On Pietro, it covers up his feet. He’s wearing a short sleeve black t-shirt that looks like it has been eaten by a million moths but that’s probably a fashion thing.

They stand in the doorway, not moving, silent as death. Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say. He sucks on the inside of his cheek. He looks down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” he says too quietly, “can I come in?”

Bucky looks back up in time to see Pietro nod. He follows him to his bedroom. Pietro opens the balcony door and steps out. He lights a cigarette. Bucky sits down on the bed, facing Pietro.

“You’re right to be mad at me,” he starts, “that was so fucked up.”

Pietro nods again, inhaling the smoke. Bucky decides that’s as good as a sign to go on as any.

“You don’t have to believe me but I’m really sorry about what happened. It’s no excuse but I got too drunk, Steve was there, and it just happened. I didn’t plan for any of this. I did really want to see you after the party. It was just…I don’t even know why I did that. It was fucked up, it really was.”

“Why you’d let me in then? Why did you lie? You could have just said. I would have left instead of making myself look like an idiot.” Pietro sucks on the cigarette before exhaling a long breath. “Bet Steve loved that.”

Bucky puts his head in his hands. He deserves to endure this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bare. He swallows around his shame, his guilt. His fingers dig at his skull.

“I thought you didn’t even talk anymore,” Pietro goes on.

Bucky shakes his head faintly. He remembers then that this is where he’s left Pietro. He hasn’t said anything about meeting Steve again, about their lunch date, about inviting him to his birthday party. That would have been horrible to explain if Pietro had made it. Bucky sighs. How can anyone put up with him?

“We didn’t…He works at Stark Tower now. It is insane that out of the probably thousand people who work there, I see him on my first day but…I don’t even know what to say. It’s stupid. I made a stupid mistake.”

“I just felt…Just so shitty, Bucky.”

“I know, it was shitty. I am shitty. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do with you. I have no idea. I’m not asking…I don’t want to be exclusive, if I’m honest. But it’s just…”

“Shit, yeah. Baggage. That was a mess. I can block him again. I should probably do that…”

“No,” Pietro replies immediately, “I mean…Don’t do it for me. I don’t particularly want you to run back to your ex but…I’m not going to be the one telling what you can and can’t do. I’d love it if you wanted to never see him again but…It’s just…It’s not my place.”

Pietro takes a long drag of his cigarette. There’s something about him that feels so desperate that Bucky feels too, somehow. He just wants to reach out and help him through it, but he knows he can’t. He knows what that is, affection, feelings, something that even Pietro can’t reach. There’s nothing that Bucky can say to make it better, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“You know I go out a lot,” Pietro starts again, not meeting his eyes, leaning on the balcony rail, “I like that. I like a lot of things about it. I like going to places I’ve never been before where I don’t know anyone and see what happens. But I also really like going back to your place, after. Or when you spend the whole weekend here. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean about me.”

Bucky swallows, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean about me, either,” he admits slowly, “I like you, I do but I’m just…”

“What do you want to do now?” Pietro cuts gently, “about this? About you and me?”

Bucky almost smiles. Even Pietro doesn’t dare saying us, as if that’d be too final.

Pietro finally meets his eyes, he’s frowning, face crumpled in concern. Like always, Bucky is not sure of what he’s thinking. “We can go slow,” Pietro offers, “even slower,” he adds with the ghost of a smile on his lips, “go at your pace. I have no idea what I’m doing either, believe me. Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take it.”

Bucky nods his head. Pietro is much too good for him. Sure, maybe they don’t owe each other anything, maybe they can pretend this is just as casual as they’d wish, but Bucky did something terrible. He can’t help but feel like he’s been let off too easily.

He stands up anyway, facing Pietro. He shrugs off his coat and takes a step forward. Pietro pushes his cigarette into the ashtray.

“I’d like that,” Bucky says, “I’m really sorry about what happened. I put you in a very awkward situation and I acted like a child about it. I should have…I can be better than this. I want to. If you’d let me.”

Pietro hums, turning away from Bucky, a smirk tugging at his lips. Bucky watches intently, his hands in his jeans’ pocket.

“Maybe you can convince me, somehow. How about that?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, finally allowing himself to smile, “what did you have in mind?”

“I think,” Pietro says gently, “that I’m owed a lot of make-up sex.”

Bucky grabs on to his hips and kisses him as softly as he can manage. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

*****

For all Bucky loves Natasha, it’s hard to get through to her sometimes.

“People break up and then have sex after a while and it means nothing. People do that.”

Natasha hums.

“It’s a thing, it doesn’t mean that they’re going to get back together. It’s nostalgia or whatever.”

“Is that what it is?”

Bucky refills both their wines stubbornly. “You know, for someone who claims to have no interest in my love life, you sure do have a lot of thoughts.” He takes a big sip, not looking at her.

“Yeah, divorced people sleep with each other and even their new boyfriends are fine with it.”

Bucky groans. “He’s not my boyfriend. Big reason why he’s fine with it. We don’t talk about that, ever. He’s probably sleeping around too. I don’t know and I don’t ask.”

Natasha barks out a laugh at that. Very unfair. “Sure, James. He doesn’t care whether or not you’re fucking your ex-husband again.”

“We are not fucking again. This was a one-time thing. Old time sake. Closure or something...”

“Three times, though?”

Bucky sighs distractedly. “Nat…”

“I know, I have eyes too. He looks good. But it means nothing, sure. You wear his love bracelet, he wears your wedding bracelet but the sex is meaningless. I’m sure if you say it quickly enough, you can start to believe it too.”

Bucky huffs. “First of all, it’s not a wedding bracelet. It’s a knot bracelet.”

“A meaningful difference, indeed.”

“Second of all,” Bucky goes on, ignoring her, “they’re just stupid bracelets. It’s not like wedding rings. Means nothing.”

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

Bucky tips his head backwards, staring at the ceiling. “So, I’m an asshole, is what you’re saying.”

“Not in so many words, if I’m honest.”

Bucky sighs. He looks down at the bracelet on his wrist. It probably is weird that he’s still wearing it now. He hasn’t even thought about taking it off. It’s just a bracelet. It was abandoned in a box for months, surely there’s a prescription date on love tokens. After a while, they expire.

“I could just never see Steve ever again. New York is a big place. This could be an outlier event kind of thing.”

Natasha hums, like she’s actually considering his words. Bucky knows very well she’s not. He waits anyway, swirling his wine around in his glass.

“I don’t even think you want my opinion. You’re just going to go ahead and do whatever you want. You’re bringing another person into your mess instead of fixing it. Steve bats his eyelashes at you and you’re gone but you won’t admit it, even to yourself. What does he want? Have you asked him that? What do you want with him?”

Bucky takes a big sip of his wine to avoid giving an answer.

“You’re a child,” Natasha chastises, pushing an index into his side to make him squirm, “you’ll hurt both of them and you won’t come out of this intact either.”

He shrugs. “You’re the one that practically pushed me into Pietro’s lap…”

“Oh, now, it’s my fault,” she interrupts loudly, “of course!”

“All I’m saying is I bet Steve isn’t getting it half as bad as I am from Sam.”

“Steve is single,” Natasha helpfully points out.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky mumbles, “so am I.”

Natasha glares at him. “Really? That’s your defense?”

“Get off my dick.”

“Whatever, James,” she finally says, caving in, “don’t listen to me but don’t get mad when I get to say I told you so.”

They finish eating in silence and Bucky almost regrets opening up the fancy bottle of wine for this. At least now he can afford it on his big Stark Industries salary.

*****

Another perk of working at SI is that he gets a big office on the main floor, not shoved away from the lawyers in a closet, like he was at the firm. He also has a secretary who takes his calls and manages his schedule. She is maybe twenty-three or so. She has tan skin, thick black curly hair and a strong, athletic physique. Bucky’s heard her talk about all her different sporty hobbies. She is also very capable, extremely organized. Which why it really surprises him to hear her say, a couple of days after that evening that he spent with Natasha, “Mr. Barnes, your lunch appointment is here.”

“My…what? I didn’t plan anything.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Mr. Rogers called this morning. He said you’d know.”

Bucky rubs at his eyes. Fucking Steve. Of course.

“Fine. Thank you, America. And I told you to call me James.”

She nods shyly. “He’s in the lobby. Should I not have…?”

“No, no,” he waves a hand as he straightens his tie, “just let me know if he calls next time.”

Bucky walks over to where Steve is waiting for him, blood pulsing tensely at his temples. They haven’t talked since Bucky’s party. They never bumped into each other again. Bucky has been grateful for the space. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to worry about finding Steve in the tower, since it was so big and busy. He should have known that Steve would show up like a bad penny.

Steve looks up as soon as Bucky opens the glass door. He looks a bit embarrassed, slightly flushed, a little guilty. Bucky would love to keep his anger, to show a front and pretend, but his heart always flutters inside his chest at the mere sight of Steve.

“Buck,” Steve breathes out.

“Come on,” Bucky mutters, “you’re buying me lunch by the way. That’s the price to pay when you ambush people.”

Steve has a small smile. He gets up and follows. They end up at that bagel place on the top floor, because Bucky is too flustered to think of any other place to go. They had a civil lunch, that one time, they can probably do that again.

Bucky orders for himself this time and lets Steve pay. They don’t exchange anything more than grunts. They find a table at the far end of the restaurant, where it’s a little less busy. Bucky exhales sharply, before he nods at Steve with a jerk of his chin. Steve beams at him. Bucky hates that he loves having this reaction on him, no matter the circumstances.

“Hey,” Steve says, sounding too fond.

Bucky blows out another breath. “Rogers, what do you want?”

Steve smirks. Bucky hates himself for having provided the best bait possible. He holds out a finger while he unwraps the bagel with his free hand. His left hand, where his watch is sitting very close to the stupid bracelet.

“I swear to god if you say ‘you’, I’m walking out,” Bucky grumbles.

Steve chuckles, unwrapping his own bagel, like this is normal, like they do this every week. Like he didn’t wait until Bucky fell asleep again to leave his apartment, without a word, like he’s done countless before when they were married.

“I wanted to see you,” Steve goes on, still smiling, still too happy to be here, sitting in front of Bucky, “I’m glad you came here with me, Buck.”

“Yeah?” Bucky rasps, cracking open his smoothie bottle and downing a third of it, “don’t push your luck then, I can still leave.”

Steve nods, looking down at his bagel. “I take it you won’t talk about what happened at your party.”

“What happened at my party?” Bucky asks with a smirk. He’s glad for this chance to be an asshole.

Steve gives him a pointed look. “That’s fine, Buck. If that’s what it takes to see you, I don’t mind. We won’t talk about it. You can play house with Pietro some more, it’s all good.”

Bucky feels a thick, overwhelming sense of rage fill him up. He clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, presses a hand into his hair and pushes his arms back down on the table. He notices too late that the bracelet has been exposed. Steve sees it too and smirks wide.

“I want to see you,” Steve admits carefully, “I want you to be in my life again. If you’d rather we pretend nothing ever happened, we can move on from that. Maybe it was a mistake, I don’t know. But you were always my best friend, this hasn’t changed for me.”

Bucky looks away, retreating into himself. He can’t lie to Steve because he knows him too well. Of course, Bucky also wants this. He’s missed Steve so much. Not even just romantically, just being able to talk to him, to laugh with him, to hang out and think nothing of it.

Steve’s fingers find Bucky’s pulse. Bucky turns his head to look at where they’re touching. The pad of Steve’s index is brushing the veins on Bucky’s wrist, reaching up slowly to touch the metal of the bracelet. Bucky curses himself for not taking it off when Natasha said it.

“If we are going to be friends, we need to set boundaries,” Bucky manages to grit out.

“Boundaries?” Steve repeats dumbly, “like what?”

“Like this type of shit, Steve, Jesus,” Bucky answers but doesn’t move his arm away.

Steve keeps his index where it is too. He stops rubbing. “Oh,” he says, “I thought you’d have taken it off by now, to be honest.”

This time, Bucky yanks his wrist away. “Yeah, well maybe I should.”

Steve smiles like he knows everything. Smug asshole. “Then why don’t you?”

Bucky has to take a deep breath to avoid making a scene in this bagel shop. He works here. He has to keep steady.

“Maybe,” he starts slowly and calmly, his anger carefully tucked in, “I just want to wear it because I’m a materialistic jerk. Maybe, I want to show off because it’s expensive. Maybe, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

Steve hums, tapping on his chin like he’s considering his next move at fucking chess. “And what did you tell your boyfriend about it?”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky grits out, quietly so that the tables by either side can’t hear him, “fuck off, alright? This is my boundary. Take it or leave it.”

“Sure, Buck,” he says, putting his hands up like a dick, a grin on his pretentious, beautiful face. Bucky hates him. He’s so glad they’re divorced. “Whatever you say.”

Bucky leans back into the chair, licking his lower lip, dragging his teeth on it until it falls off with a click of his tongue. Steve studies his face carefully. It would be easy, then, to walk away again and set a hard line between them. Bucky could think about Pietro’s words, about how he had asked, a little desperately, for Bucky to choose him instead of Steve.

But Bucky also thinks of himself, of the many nights he spent, going through his photo albums, craving Steve’s presence. Not even his words or his love, just for him to be there, beside him, just existing nearby. So, he swallows, and he nods. Steve smiles wide.

“We’ll see each other around and it won’t be weird,” Bucky tries to say strongly, “we’ll be just friends. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, of course, I can,” Steve replies, grinning, “how about you, Buck? Will you be able to resist me?”

Bucky snorts and kicks Steve’s shins under the table. Steve snickers. Maybe, this isn’t a bad idea. Maybe Natasha is overreacting. Maybe what Bucky feels behind his chest is just overwhelming affection for an old friend. Maybe, he doesn’t even have to think about it anymore. Maybe, this is what he deserves. A solid friendship with the love of his life. His ex-husband. Fuck. Whatever. Steve, his best friend. That’s more like it. A good friendship with his soulmate.

Bucky rubs a hand on his face. He’ll get used to it.

****

Days go by and things are good with Pietro, with work, with Natasha…Things are good. Bucky finds it that he breathes easier. He barely has any nightmares these days, which means his stress levels are going down. Some nights, he still wakes up drenched in sweat, but he never actively tries to choke Pietro out in his sleep so he’s going to call that progress.

With Steve, things are fine. They don’t see each other around the Tower but they text each other silly things, memes or links to things they find relevant. It’s not entirely familiar but it’s close enough to feel good. They haven’t spent a night out together again and that’s probably for the best. Pietro doesn’t ask about it and Bucky doesn’t give out any information about it. Things are good. Bucky doesn’t need to make them messy.

He finds that he spends a lot more time up in Connecticut, too. He visits Becca more, he helps out with the baby. He’s always believed he was close to his oldest sister, but their relationship is a lot stronger now that he doesn’t avoid making the trip there at all cost. It doesn’t hurt that he gets to hold a baby as a reward either.

It takes Bucky a while before he talks about his birthday party to Becca. About what happened with him and Steve, with Pietro. He’s never talked about Pietro with his sister, even though they have met each other a handful of times. He’s always felt like it would make it into too much of something.

And he was right in a way, because he completely forgot about Passover, again, and Becca has all these ideas in her head that make everything sound wonderful _on paper_.

“Bring him over for the Seder,” Becca supplies while they’re on the phone, like this helps anything. Bucky groans. “What?” she goes on, “why not? Mark is bringing all his friends. No one will say anything.”

“What about ma?”

“She’s staying in Shelbyville, you know that. With Alice and the cousins.”

Bucky nods to no one. He did know that. Doesn’t make bringing Pietro sound any better. “He’d bring his twin sister, too. He cares about this stuff, you know?”

“Well, take Clint’s car and bring everyone over. I don’t trust Beth in a car. What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s Christmas.”

“You know, for someone who wants to be the best Jew of the northern hemisphere, you care about Christmas an awful lot.”

Becca snorts. “Ask him! Come on, Bucky. He’s really hot so I can’t believe it’s that you’re ashamed of him.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon?” he tries to counter. “I haven’t been divorced for a full year. Isn’t there some Jewish laws about this?”

“How would I know, there’re Jewish laws about everything,” she says mildly, “anyway, worst thing that happens is that he says no...”

“Worst thing that happens is he says yes,” Bucky interrupts, “worst thing after that is that he comes and watches me be embarrassing for a whole day. Worst thing next is Beth decides that this is the best time to have another delightful temper tantrum.”

“Aw, now you said you were getting along. You said you hugged it out on Christmas. She was fine with Steve dating Peggy. She’ll love Pietro. I’ll love Pietro. He sounds too cool to be your boyfriend, by the way.”

Oh, and that too. “Maybe that’s why he’s not my boyfriend. Let’s leave this topic out of the evening, alright?”

Becca has a deep sigh on the line. “How about you tell him that you want him to be your boyfriend? Then, you bring him to the Seder and we all have a great time.”

Bucky could do this, but he could also…Absolutely not do this. Pietro said it too, he doesn’t want to be exclusive. What’s the big rush? They can take their time. They’re going slow. They’re enjoying each other’s company and they don’t need to put a name on everything they do. Which is fine. Which probably means that bringing Pietro over a Passover Seder is a terrible idea.

“I’ll think about it,” he concedes.

“Hooray,” Becca deadpans.

*****

They’ve started doing this thing with Pietro, where he goes out all night and comes back at the crack of dawn to Bucky’s place. It’s an odd routine, him waking up Bucky and crawling into bed with him, sweaty and drunk and so sweet. Bucky pretends he hates it, demands he goes shower before he lets Pietro wrap his arms around him and hold him tight.

It’s intimate, it’s a little stupid too. In the morning, Bucky makes him a greasy breakfast and they watch TV together. Bucky is pretty sure that Pietro hooks up with other people wherever it is that he goes but the fact that Pietro wants to get back to him afterwards warms something in his insides that he doesn’t want to dwell on. They suit each other, he lets himself think, both of them terrible at putting words on their feelings.

It’s a couple of days before the Seder now. Pietro came to Bucky’s apartment around 7AM, just when Bucky was getting ready to leave for work. Pietro passed out in Bucky’s bed and lounged around the whole day. Sometimes, Bucky doesn’t really understand Pietro’s schedule, but he doesn’t ask. He found him on his couch when he got back from work and that made something jump around in his stomach happily, finding Pietro nestled in his space.

Now, Pietro’s head is pillowed on Bucky’s thigh. He’s playing some game on his phone, facing the ceiling. He’s particularly engrossed in it because he doesn’t say anything about Bucky carding his fingers through his hair like he usually does.

“Babe?” Bucky calls.

“Hm?” Pietro replies, not looking up from his phone.

Bucky hesitates. He turns the question around in his mind. “What are you…You know Passover.”

This time, Pietro focuses his eyes on Bucky, the beginning of a grin breaking on his face. “I have heard about it, yes.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles, “what are you doing for Passover?”

Pietro’s grin falters. He puts his phone down and rolls completely to his side so they can face each other properly.

“Do you want to spend Passover with me and Wanda?”

“No, uh.” He clears his throat. “You remember my sister Becca? Rebecca, the one who just had a baby.”

“Yeah, I met her a couple of years ago, right? The one that looks just like you?”

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his hand in Pietro’s hair. “I’m much better looking than her, I’ll have you know.”

“She is younger too. Maybe I should upgrade my Barnes model,” Pietro says, grin returning, before he reaches for his phone again.

“She is also happily married. And she wants you and Wanda to come over for the Seder. I’m driving up with Elisabeth, that’s my youngest sister, by the way, so, if you don’t have any plans...”

Pietro drops his phone. He frowns. Bucky wonders if he crossed a line somehow.

“You can say no, of course. No pressure. It’s the baby’s first Passover so Becca wants to make a big deal out of it. I haven’t even been to a Seder in years.”

Pietro nods absently. “So, I get to make fun of how little you know about your own culture as well as not having to cook anything?”

“You’d be so lucky,” Bucky says, smiling, “is this a yes?”

Pietro shrugs, which is a bit awkward when he’s lying down like that.

“It’s nothing…You know, official or whatever. It’s not like I’m introducing you to my parents. You know Becca.”

“Yeah, baby, I know,” Pietro says calmly, looking up at Bucky, “I have to ask Wanda, that’s all.” He takes Bucky’s hand away from his hair and kisses his palm with a smirk. “You’re ruining my hair.”

Bucky settles back into the sofa, now stroking Pietro’s cheek gently. “You love it,” he mumbles.

“I’ll let you know about Passover,” Pietro promises.

He sits up and takes Bucky’s face in his hands. He presses soft kisses, light as air, on Bucky’s forehead, his browbone, his nose, his cheek. “So goddamn cute,” he whispers right by Bucky’s lips.

Bucky smiles. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“What would you say though, if I went? How would you introduce me?” he asks in an even tone.

“To Passover?” Bucky replies. Pietro hums positively. Bucky clears his throat nervously. “I don’t know…How do you want me to introduce you? I’d say, here’s Pietro, this really great guy that I, uh, am dating?” Bucky tries. This has to be a line he’s crossing. They’ve never talked like that before.

Pietro doesn’t react outwardly. He rarely does. He pushes Bucky’s hair thoughtfully. “Your hair is getting longer again,” he muses.

“Maybe then I should introduce you as a lousy hairdresser who can’t even maintain my haircut properly.”

Pietro smiles, letting his hand drop to Bucky’s chest and twisting at his nipple under his shirt. Bucky yelps. Pietro goes on to tickling him. They shuffle on the couch until Pietro has him pinned under him, his wrists together on top of his head.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky says, a little breathless, “I’ll say, here’s Pietro, New York City’s best hairdresser.”

Pietro pushes his weight against Bucky’s body, rolling his hips. “Only New York City?”

“Baby,” Bucky huffs, “you know how many hairdressers there are in this fucking city?” Pietro bites at his neck. Bucky can’t help the moan that falls out his lips. “New York State, then,” he allows.

Pietro licks a line of skin from Bucky’s collarbone to his ear, still holding his wrists tight in one hand. Bucky could break his hold easily, but he loves to be kept like this, encaged in Pietro’s body. Pietro sucks a mark behind Bucky’s ear, making him shiver.

“East coast, probably,” Bucky goes on.

“Leave your hands here,” Pietro instructs in a low voice, just before he lets go of his grip.

Bucky gets more comfortable, lying down lengthwise on the couch. He holds his wrists together on top of his head. Pietro shuffles until he’s seated between Bucky’s legs. He runs his hands on the side of Bucky’s body, rucking up his t-shirt, finding his way towards the elastic band of his boxers. He bends his body to press teasing, open mouthed kisses to the line of his hips. Bucky inhales sharply.

Pietro raises his head from Bucky’s skin, a smirk on his lush lips, “East Coast, huh?”

Bucky curls his hand around Pietro’s hair. He strokes his head idly, smiling too. His hair is so soft. Bucky tugs on it a little.

“Come on,” Bucky says, “the whole of the United States, if you want.”

“You’re very easily convinced.”

“Yeah, well, you’re very convincing.”

Pietro chuckles. It still strikes Bucky sometimes how genuinely adorable Pietro is. He’s so warm and kind and compassionate. It knots something in Bucky’s heart tightly to think, this man wants him. This beautiful, tender man has decided that Bucky was worth his time. That Bucky failed him, and he forgave him anyway. That Bucky gets to have this, Pietro kneeling between his legs, his mouth at his skin, his hands pressing into his hips hungrily.

“Don’t fuck up my hair more,” Pietro says for good measure.

He pulls Bucky’s sweatpants down and then makes quick work of his boxers. He takes Bucky in hand, licking his shaft from the tip to his balls. Bucky sucks in a deep breath. Pietro swallows him next. He tries his best to keep his hands away.

*****

Bucky doesn’t really know how Pietro convinced Wanda to join them on the world’s weirdest road trip up to Becca’s house. He feels like this is one of the things that are better left unsaid. Also, he has much bigger things to worry about, like Pietro meeting Elisabeth. Elisabeth telling their mom about Pietro. Their mom talking about Pietro to Steve. This is a nightmare that keeps on giving and yet, at every turn, Bucky decides he will sink deeper in.

He picks up Elisabeth first and they both ignore that they have to take a detour to get to TriBeCa. Elisabeth is oddly quiet for once. Bucky tries to reassure her, that she doesn’t have to like Pietro. He definitely hates reenacting every deadbeat dad introducing their new, younger girlfriend to their daughter from cliched romcom, but he powers through it.

“I’m glad you and Steve are talking again at least,” Elisabeth says, probably to say anything at all, “it was weird when you guys just pretended you didn’t remember each other.”

Bucky nods awkwardly. “Just, you know…Try and not mention the whole Steve thing.” He obviously has not mentioned to her about that whole debacle the night of his party. “It’s sort of a sore subject.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, and she almost sounds offended, like the beacon of maturity she believes herself to be, “I’m not an asshole.”

Well. Bucky is her big brother and will be the better person here. “I only want everyone to have a good time, alright?”

“Sure, dad,” Elisabeth snorts.

Yeah, he earned that one.

“Here they are,” he points to the two silhouettes at the corner of the street.

Wanda has her hair tied in a half ponytail, the rest of her long auburn hair cascading down on her shoulder. She’s dressed neatly in a long flowery skirt and a black cardigan. She waves at the car with a big smile. Pietro is dressed in navy wide slacks and a jersey bomber matching jacket. He doesn’t really move to greet them. Bucky hopes he’s not as nervous as him.

“Be nice,” Bucky can’t help to remind his sister.

She rolls her eyes and unhooks her seatbelt, hopping off the car quickly. Bucky follows and takes a deep breath. He opens his arms for Wanda, kissing her cheek, then lets Pietro grab his neck and pull him forward to press a kiss to his lips.

“Hey, baby,” Pietro says warmly.

Bucky smiles. “Hey. Beth, this is Pietro and Wanda. Pietro, Wanda, my baby sister Beth.”

“So nice to meet you,” Wanda exclaims, wrapping Beth in a hug, “Bucky, Becca and Beth, that’s really cute. How did that come about?”

Bucky winces, waving a hand but Elisabeth is quicker. “You can blame Steve for that,” she says immediately, “he was only five when he met Bucky and wouldn’t call him Jaime. Then, he couldn’t say Rebecca properly. He used to call Alice, Deedee, do you remember Bucky?”

Bucky looks away, clearing his throat. “He calls you Lizzie, so really you should blame the cheesy nicknames on me if anything. We should go, Becca will have my head if we’re late.”

“I think it’s cute,” Pietro assures, stepping forward to hug Elisabeth as well.

Bucky tenses, then relaxes, when they only hug hello then smile politely at each other. It only took a whole minute before Elisabeth mentioned Steve, but things seem fine.

“Yeah, Bucky,” Elisabeth sneers, pinching his cheek, “listen to your boyfriend. You little cutie pie.”

Bucky freezes. He almost feels like everything around him freezes too. He turns his head, very slowly, towards Pietro and Wanda.

“Oh, no, don’t mention commitment, Bucky might melt away,” Pietro deadpans with a smile.

Bucky had expected every reaction expect for this. “What?” he mumbles.

“Sorry, what I meant to say is that Bucky has a condition. If you talk about relationships, he will melt to the ground like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz.”

Elisabeth grins. Bucky doesn’t know what the worse possible outcome could be, that they get along or that they don’t.

“Alright, alright, let’s all get in before I change my mind about driving all of you to Connecticut.”

“It’s an hour drive, Bucky,” Elisabeth replies, just as cheerful, “it’s not Miami.”

*****

The driveway to Becca’s house is full of cars. Bucky knows that Marcus’ friends and his brother are attending the Seder too, but thankfully Becca’s mother-in-law, Steve’s biggest fan, is out on a cruise with her husband. Bucky didn’t lie, it is nothing like bringing Pietro over to meet his parents. Sure, it’s a sacred religious event but it’s as casual as can be.

Pietro is a social butterfly if Bucky’s ever seen one. He gets along with everyone, making people laugh. He’s a charmer. He works around the awkward introductions and dodges the questions about their relationship with grace. Bucky feels almost smug to have brought someone this charismatic and interesting to Becca’s home. For once, he won’t be pegged as the miserable big brother with the absent husband that people are starting to think was made up.

In a way, he thinks he could get used to this. This new life. He has survived Steve and now he still lives. He’s got a fancy, successful hairdresser by his side, he’s partaking more in social events. He’s grown so much, he’s done so many things he would have never believed himself capable of. He leans back in his chair and rests his arm on the top rail of Pietro’s chair, not even touching Pietro, just existing in his space. Pietro looks back at him, still telling a colorful story to whoever it is he’s speaking to, and smiles. Bucky smiles back. It’s good. It’s easy. He feels emboldened.

His courage fades really quickly when Becca passes the phone with his mother’s face taking most of the screen. He straightens up and waves, trying his best to look happy and innocuous.

“Hi, ma, how’s it going?”

All the way in Shelbyville, Winnifred coos, waving her hand at whoever is next to her. “It’s Jaime!” she exclaims loudly, “hold on, honey, Alice is here too. Oh, is it the light in the house or do you look really pale, Jaime? Did you lose weight? You look like you did. You need to eat more, you know that? Your boyfriend cooks?”

Bucky blows out a breath, trying to stay out of Pietro’s way. He hopes he hasn’t heard that. Music is playing in the background in both the houses and the phone isn’t loud enough for the conversation not too be muffled. Anyway, this is still dangerous waters for their shaky relationship.

“How’s the Seder in Indiana?” Bucky says to distract her.

“I’m really happy that you have a Jewish boyfriend, baby,” Winnifred continues instead, “you never used to come to the Seder. It’s good for you.”

She sounds a little tipsy. Bucky sucks on his lower lip. He can’t really think of the best plan of action. Luckily for him, Alice turns the screen towards her and waves.

“Cheerio, Bucky-doo,” she greets in an English accent. So, she’s still doing that joke. Neat.

“Hi, Alice.”

“So, where’s that new, hot boyfriend of yours?” she asks, grinning, “is he also British? Are you and Steve doing a theme?”

Bucky sighs and tilts his head backward, avoiding both their expectant gaze.

“Alice!” Winnifred says, but giggles uncontrollably.

“This is all…,” Bucky trails away, rubbing a hand on his face, “great stuff, clearly. Are you both drunk?”

They look at each other, then giggle some more which is as much as an admission as a loud yes. Bucky, who has been drinking kosher wine for hours by now, doesn’t have the patience to deal with them.

“Alright, let me give this back to Becs.”

He fumbles with the phone which falls forward. Right by Pietro’s hand on the table, of course. He takes it idly before handing it back to Bucky without even looking. This doesn’t escape the prying eyes of Winnifred and Alice who wolf whistle immediately. Bucky scrambles to take the phone back but it’s too late. Pietro frowns in confusion.

“Hi!” Winnifred basically screams, “you must be Pietro! So nice to finally see you!”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Bucky mumbles, trying to find the lock button on Becca’s phone, still in Pietro’s slender fingers, “babe, just hang up, please.”

Alice coos, elbowing her mother in the ribs. “They’re _adorable_!”

“Uh, hey,” Pietro says carefully before letting go completely of the phone.

Bucky switches it off. He tries to keep his nervousness under control. Pietro just stares at him quietly.

“Was that your mom?”

“Yeah…Sorry about that. Becca just wanted me to say hello…”

“Are you embarrassed about me, Bucky?” Pietro says, his voice quiet. His lips tug in a slight smirk but Bucky can tell he’s only half teasing.

“No, of course I’m not,” he replies, patting Pietro’s shoulder. Pietro leans back on his chair, all casual like, but technically he’s moving away from Bucky’s touch. “They’re just…I don’t know. Silly drunks. I can embarrass myself all on my own. I don’t need my mom’s help.”

Pietro nods and takes his eyes off Bucky. This is a dismissal if Bucky’s ever seen one. This is a “we’ll discuss this in private and you’ll get my full opinion about it” sort of nod. Bucky swallows, getting up to find Becca again. And he had gotten away with sleeping with his ex-husband. How did he manage to become such an asshole?

*****

Wanda is the only one who abstained from drinking and can manage to get them all back safely to New York. The ride back is too quiet. Elisabeth falls asleep in the backseat, next to Bucky while Wanda and Pietro exchange few words in their native language. Bucky almost dozes too but his anxiety is keeping him too alert. He doesn’t know what to expect. He feels too on edge.

They drop off Elisabeth at her dorms then drive the short distance to TriBeCa. Pietro doesn’t look at Bucky, takes his things from the trunk and heads toward their building. Wanda shrugs before she follows. Bucky does the same, a little sheepish.

Bucky has barely enough time to get rid of his jacket and his sneakers and flopping down on Pietro’s bed before he gets pinned by a heavy glare. He squirms, setting his head on the pillows.

“What are we doing, Bucky?” Pietro asks harshly.

Bucky puts his feet down on the floor again. Pietro doesn’t bother opening the balcony door, just leans there, going for his cigarette pack. His fingers aren’t steady. Bucky’s guilt is getting heavier by the second.

“I was thinking you brought me back here to take me to bed,” he tries to sound light and playful, but he can hear the falter in his own voice.

Pietro clicks his tongue. “Be serious for one minute. What are we doing? You fuck your ex, you let me make a complete ass of myself, then your idea of a solution is to bring me to a Seder with your family when you can’t even talk about me? You have to make up a name for what I am to you…It’s ridiculous.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You said it yourself…You said you didn’t want to be a couple, either. Why is it all on me now?”

Pietro’s eyes narrow. He looks away, puffing out the smoke angrily. “That’s not what I said. I said we could go at your pace. But what this is…This is nothing. We fuck, we spend whole weekends together and then what? Hope for the best?”

The guilt that has started to accumulate under Bucky’s skin grows and grows until it feels like there’s pockets of it all over his skin. Why can’t he offer Pietro anything? Why is his throat dry, just now, in the face of honesty and openness? He looks down at his feet and shrugs. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, least of all what his heart should or shouldn’t want. Or just wants. What does he want? He wishes for his own happiness. What even is that? He hasn’t known for years.

“We could…,” something blocks his words in his mouth. He tries clearing his throat. “Do you want that? To be official? I like you, Pietro, I don’t know what else to say…”

“Over and over, you put me in the most awkward positions I’ve ever been. And I go anyway. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Bucky gets up and tries to reach for Pietro but he looks at him then, hard and cold, so Bucky lets his hand fall to his side. They just look at each other, Bucky wincing under Pietro’s stare, for a few seconds. The room is too silent, with the balcony door closed, the night already dark.

“I don’t want Steve to be the reason why we got together, Bucky.”

“I know that. And he’s not. I care about you, you can believe that much, right?”

Pietro sucks on his cigarette but doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Pietro,” he says softly, “baby, look at me please.”

Pietro does. His eyes are so sad and distant, like he’s not really looking at Bucky, but through him, remembering all the heartbreak Bucky put him through.

“I’m sorry about my shitty family. I’m sorry about my own shittiness. I’ll do what I can to make it up to you. Will you let me?” He continues, quietly, “please?”

Pietro exhales all the smoke in his lungs, and it rises through the air like a column. It separates them into almost two rooms.

“If that’s how you care about people…”

Bucky shakes his head. “I promise I can do better. You’re owed so much better than this. Believe me I know.”

“It’s not about what I deserve, Bucky,” Pietro says, turning his beautiful face away again. “What sort of bullshit is that? No one deserves anything. I want…I don’t even know what I want. I know I want you. I want this.” He has a deep sigh. “Whatever the hell that means.”

“It means something,” Bucky whispers, taking a tentative step forward. Pietro doesn’t push him away this time so it takes this as permission. He puts a hand on Pietro’s hip. “You mean something to me.” He kisses the side of Pietro’s jaw. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bucky brushes the hair away from Pietro’s forehead. He tilts his head towards him and presses their mouths together. It’s only a closed-mouth kiss until Pietro sighs and relaxes in Bucky’s hold. In the pale moonlight that reaches the bedroom, the bracelet on Bucky’s wrist glistens.

*****

There’s an odd lull in Bucky and Pietro’s relationship. Bucky understands that Pietro probably wants space. They still see each other often, spending whole nights together, then mornings and lazy afternoons, but Pietro doesn’t appear suddenly in Bucky’s apartment anymore. Bucky wishes he weren’t so glad not to feel so pressured into making his mind up anymore.

He doesn’t block Steve. He doesn’t take the bracelet off. Natasha even drops the subject. They see each other, in big groups, and no one comments on their weird, mended relationship. At least, Steve doesn’t bump into Pietro again. Small mercies and all that.

On top of the kitchen island, where Bucky is trying to marinate his chicken, his phone buzzes. He glances at it from his chopping board. It’s Steve.

_Hey, wanna go see a movie? It’s Super Tuesdays_

Something warms up inside Bucky’s chest as he realizes that he can do this now. He can have this. A casual relationship with Steve. Be friends again, hang out, invite each other out and not think twice.

Bucky wipes his hands before he presses the dial button on top of the conversation thread. Steve picks up immediately. They do this, Bucky thinks, a little enchanted.

“What movie?” Bucky says instead of a greeting.

Steve sniggers. “You pick. I’m just going for the free snacks.”

“Huh. And I would have thought it would have been for my never-ending rants whenever I find a plot hole.”

“Well, believe it or not, I have missed those. Pick the times too, we can just walk over, I’m not far.”

“Alright,” Bucky says, unlocking his tablet, “it will be something nerdy, just warning you now so you’ll have time to back out.”

“Whatever, Buck,” Steve assures him, “I’ll text you the place, pick a time and come here, we’ll walk over.”

“Dragging me all the way over to Bushwick, huh?”

“Yeah, I hope ten blocks isn’t too much of a deterrent.”

“I’ll get a cab if I have to.”

“Fine, see you then, Buck.”

Steve hangs up after Bucky says goodbye. Turns out, Bucky really feels like going to see a movie. Him and Steve are just doing what friends do.

He finishes cooking, browsing the selection of movie before making his decision and sends it out to Steve. All he gets back is thumbs up, so he guesses that’s good enough.

*****

Bucky buzzes the intercom, and it takes Steve five minutes to come down the stairs. Bucky thinks about the fact that he’s never been up there, in Steve’s new home. Where he lives, without Bucky. Since they got back from the war, they’ve never lived apart. They broke up and now that’s where they stand. Ten blocks away from each other isn’t so bad.

Steve smiles, has an awkward wave and stands too far away. Bucky smiles too because he also hasn’t got a clue about how they should greet each other. He takes a tentative step towards Steve. They stand still, frozen in time, the loudness of the streets of Brooklyn now deafening.

“Hey,” Bucky says, maybe too quietly.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, his smile too fond.

Bucky can’t help it. He wraps his arms around Steve’s thick shoulders and presses their chests together. They can hug hello, it’s ok. No boundary has been crossed.

They exchange few words on the way to the cinema. They pay for their own tickets, they retrieve the free snacks. It’s easy because they’ve never stopped being friends. Bucky finds himself relaxing a little. He gives the ticket to the usher and gets pointed to the right room. He looks down at the ticket he’s clutching in his hand.

On top of it, is the date. 5.4.21. Their anniversary. He can’t believe he didn’t even notice. It’s so fucking stupid, it’s actually funny. He pushes on Steve’s shoulder in front of him.

“What?” Steve calls without turning around.

“Did you do this on purpose?” Bucky asks, holding up the ticket, “look at the date.”

Steve stops then, twists his neck to look at Bucky, a slight frown on his face. “What?” He says again, because he’s the world biggest idiot.

Finally, he sees the date. His brain connects the dots quicker than Bucky expected. He swallows. “Oh. No, I didn’t…it’s super Tuesdays. That’s…”

Bucky tries to smile, like this is no big deal at all. “Well, at least, your memory didn’t suddenly improve with the divorce.”

His frown deepens. “Is it…Should we not? See the movie, I mean. Is it a big deal?”

“It’s not like we ever made a big deal out of it,” Bucky says with a shrug, “doesn’t have to matter, does it? I don’t care. It’s just a Tuesday in May.”

Steve nods absently, like his body moved quicker than his mind. He keeps walking towards their room. Bucky feels like he shouldn’t even have pointed it out, left Steve to his blissful ignorance.

Bucky feels awkward now. They sit down next to each other in silence, their knees an inch apart.

“I really didn’t know,” Bucky assures again.

He didn’t know last year either. He almost can’t believe it’s been a whole year. He doesn’t clarify for Steve what year he’s talking about. Could be any of the two they were married, could be this day. There’s another sinking feeling in his chest, knowing that they’ve now been divorced for half as long as they were married. Before he knows it, he’s sure it’ll be longer. A strange happening in their history that no one will remember. Something they’ll joke about. Yeah, Steve and Bucky used to be married, imagine that? Something that will make so little sense, it’ll be hard to believe.

On his wrist, the bracelet, that Steve tried to give him on their second anniversary, burns his skin.

“I know, Buck, it’s ok,” Steve replies calmly. The commercials are ending, the movie will start any minute.

Steve pats Bucky’s knee, then squeezes and lets go. Bucky wants to keep Steve’s hand there, cover it with his own, lace their fingers and hold. He doesn’t. He swallows and focuses his eyes on the screen.

They stay silent throughout the whole movie. Bucky barely registers anything. Something is pulling right inside of him, stretching him out until his skin is taunt, ready to break at a moment’s notice. He almost wants to get up, move around to relieve some of the tension that’s pouring out of him. He doesn’t look over at Steve.

The credits roll. The room starts to empty. Bucky swallows and gets to his feet. Steve follows him, just as quiet. They exchange a few words about the movie, the usual careless chatter about opinions and rundown of it. Bucky mostly nods, tries to relax into a smile.

They walk right back to Bucky’s door, which is stupid, because it's much further away than Steve's place. Last time Steve was here, it was Bucky’s birthday party. Last time he had stood outside the building’s door, he was leaving, after they had sex, while Bucky was asleep, like he had done too many times during their relationship.

Bucky looks up. Time stands still, neither of them says anything or makes a move to leave. The sun is going down but the sky is staying bright, different hues of oranges and pinks. Bucky wants to reach out for Steve, he almost feels an ache for his touch. They stand only a couple inches apart. It would be so easy.

“Buck,” Steve says. His voice is like a plea. Like a whispered prayer.

Bucky is weak when it comes to Steve. He wishes there were some sort of hidden strength he could gather in himself to fight off that urge he feels. He wants Steve so badly it hurts, but he knows how wrong this feeling is. How it destroyed him, not even a year ago. He hasn’t forgotten all the sleepless nights he spent in his apartment, alone, terrified. How Steve never acknowledged his pain, just watched him from afar, silently. It doesn’t subdue that want, that overwhelming, all-encompassing part of his brain that turns on when Steve is near.

Bucky doesn’t push him off when Steve comes closer. He doesn’t move. He only watches him with half-lidded eyes. In this moment, nothing exists but him and Steve and the cold, steel door by his left elbow. That and the clear sky of Brooklyn in May. They were married on this day, it’s only fitting.

Steve brushes the hair off Bucky’s forehead. The press of his thumb on Bucky’s skin is enough to set him on fire. He stays very still, waiting, opened and desperate for anything that Steve will allow himself to ask for. Whatever Steve wants now, Bucky will give. It always worked like that between them. It won’t ever stop.

Steve’s hand strays down to Bucky’s jaw, tilting his chin up and he breaks the terrible distance that separated their mouths. Steve kisses like he always did, slow and gentle and delicate. For all the strength he’s gathered over the years, he took his time with Bucky, every time without fail. This was always his way of saying that Bucky was worth this. That they could take as long as they wanted. That he wouldn’t change his mind halfway. Bucky loves this, loves him, with whatever makes his body. There is not one cell of his body that doesn’t belong to that man and isn’t that the real curse?

Bucky might be weak but he’s not an idiot. This will hurt someone else and that, he can’t allow. He only lets himself enjoy the kiss for even less than a minute before he puts his hands on Steve’s chest and pushes him away. Last time they did this was a mistake. Nothing has changed since then. They can’t do this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says gently, too quietly, “I can’t.”

Steve nods, like he understands. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to, really. Bucky knows whatever it is that he needed to get out will not be freed today. He’ll have to carry that weight, just like Bucky does, because they gave up on each other when they walked away. Now, they must suffer the consequences.

Bucky still strokes Steve’s cheek, because he can, for now. Just for a moment, he can indulge.

“I’ll see you later, Steve. I had a good time tonight.”

Steve looks up to him, so hopeful and bright. Bucky feels his mended heart breaking all over again. “Yeah?”

“Did you?” Bucky asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yeah, Buck. Have a goodnight.”

They step away from each other. Bucky straightens up.

“You too,” he says back.

He watches Steve leave, turning away with a little wave of his hand. Bucky takes a deep breath, exhaling all the breath in his lungs, inhaling all the cold air of the city. He hasn’t felt this alone in months.


	9. Compromised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I, uh, I kissed Steve.”
> 
> Pietro blinks at him a couple of times before he smiles in confusion, like this might just be a prank that Bucky is pulling on him. “You…You did what?”
> 
> “It wasn’t anything…It doesn’t mean anything. It was one kiss. It’s never happening again. I just thought you should know, it’s only fair.”
> 
> “Only…fair?” 
> 
> Bucky seems to have broken Pietro’s brain. Pietro looks away, his face crumpling into a frown, deep lines settling on his forehead.
> 
> “I thought…You said you didn’t want to see him anymore. What the fuck, Bucky? You bumped into him and you just started making out?”

Bucky doesn’t wait long until he invites Pietro to his place. He knows he’s done something terrible, something close to unforgivable, but if they can keep their heads cool, maybe they can fix this.

Pietro comes in, beautiful as always, open and bright, and the guilt almost chokes up Bucky. Pietro puts his jacket away, kicks off his sneakers and kisses Bucky like he needs it more than air. He pulls away and strokes Bucky’s cheeks with both hands.

“Giving up on shaving, baby?”

Bucky cracks a smile. This is normal. This is good. He can do this. He shakes his head and takes a step away.

“Babe, listen, I need to tell you something.”

Pietro sits down on the couch. He pats the space next to him. “Come here, why do you look so serious? You fucked my sister or something?”

Bucky clears his throat. He sits down too, about a foot away from Pietro, bracing himself like he would in an imminent car crash.

“I, uh, I kissed Steve.”

Pietro blinks at him a couple of times before he smiles in confusion, like this might just be a prank that Bucky is pulling on him. “You…You did what?”

“It wasn’t anything…It doesn’t mean anything. It was one kiss. It’s never happening again. I just thought you should know, it’s only fair.”

“Only…fair?”

Bucky seems to have broken Pietro’s brain. Pietro looks away, his face crumpling into a frown, deep lines settling on his forehead.

“I thought…You said you didn’t want to see him anymore. What the fuck, Bucky? You bumped into him and you just started making out?”

Bucky winces, shaking his head. He doesn’t have any excuse, not really. He never told Pietro how he kept in contact with Steve. He can’t confess to it now, either. He straightens his back slightly. This feels just like the time after his birthday party when he had to crawl back to Pietro’s apartment and beg to be forgiven.

Pietro stands up. He’s furious. He’s never acted like this in front of Bucky before. Pietro is always calm and measured, keeping his emotions close to him. Bucky can’t believe he’s the reason for this outburst.

“Pietro…I’m sorry, I really am, but it was one stupid kiss. I didn’t fuck him.”

This seems to bring Pietro to his breaking point. “Oh,” he exclaims, “lady and gents, he didn’t fuck him! You want a medal? Bucky Barnes, king of self-restraint!”

Bucky swallows. “I don’t know what you want me to say…”

“And at your party, what was that? Huh? You said that was one time! One fucking time!”

“Pietro, listen…”

“No!” He yells back. “I’m done. I’m done with this shit. I get it alright, you’re not the only that’s scared shitless of whatever this is we’re doing, but you’re a coward.”

“I…,” is all Bucky can get out before Pietro cuts him.

“You’re an asshole, too. A goddamn, top shelf quality asshole. What did you expect to happen? You said you wouldn’t even see him again. What did you think was going to happen?”

“If you would just listen…”

“And you’ll manage to make yourself the victim in all of this. Like you had no blame in this. Poor Bucky Barnes, he had his heart broken, he’s suffering, he’s never responsible for anything. I’m out of here. I’m so sick of this.”

Bucky doesn’t add anything. How could he? Pietro’s right. Bucky knew that he would hurt Pietro and he went and did it anyway.

Pietro finds his jacket and shoves it on.

“Don’t call me, I swear to god. I can’t believe you, Bucky. I was so patient with you…I’d have waited for so much longer. All this and for what?”

“Pietro, please, at least just know this has nothing to do with you.”

“Oh! Oh! So, now you’re going to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me?’ I don’t think so.”

Just like that, Pietro slams the door and he’s gone. Bucky sinks back into the couch.

“Fuck!” He groans. “Fuck!” He screams and screams into the empty apartment.

Fucking Steve. This is all his fault. They’ve been divorced for a full year and he’s still ruining Bucky’s life. Fucking asshole. Bastard. Bucky hates him with all he’s got.

He pulls out his phone. It’s 4:30PM and it’s Saturday, so surely Steve and his mighty busy schedule must be at home. Fucking Steve. He had to go and quit SHIELD, decide _it wasn’t his fight anymore_ , fucking retire, only after Bucky had walked out. He couldn’t have done it for his husband, no, he had to do it for his _delicate morals_.

But it’s fine. It’s all good. Bucky is over it. That’s not the problem at hand here. That’s not why Bucky is walking the ten blocks over to Bushwick like he’s a man on a mission. This has nothing to do with Steve and how he fucking abandoned Bucky when he needed him most. No. This is about Bucky. About what he deserves and what he needs. Right now, it’s a fucking break.

*****

Steve doesn’t even ask why Bucky is outside his apartment. Of course, he doesn’t, the smug jerk. He’s too glad. Doesn’t matter. Bucky rushes right in anyway.

“Pietro broke up with me,” he announces as he throws his jacket on the couch.

Steve stares dumbly. He stands still and too silent.

“He broke up with me and we weren’t even really together,” Bucky keeps going, “so I ruined it before it was really a thing, and this is all your fault.”

“I’m…sorry?” Steve says but he’s fighting a smile.

Bucky pushes him towards what he guesses is Steve’s bedroom. They hit a wall, hard. Bucky takes his own T-shirt off.

“So now, you’re going to fuck me like you mean it because apparently this is all we’re good for.”

“Bucky,” Steve starts.

“Don’t. I really, really need this right now. Are you saying you don’t want this?”

Steve shakes his head, smiling wide. He caresses Bucky’s stubbled cheek. “Trying to copy my look?”

“Fuck off. Sam’s not here?”

“VA,” Steve confirms, his voice low and rough, “you can be as loud as you want, Buck.”

Bucky hates that his insides warm up hearing Steve talk like this. He rushes to kiss him again, grappling at his shirt to expose more skin. He feels desperate for Steve’s touch now. Anything to stop thinking whatever thoughts of guilt, of heartache and pain his brain can’t stop bombarding him with.

Steve understands, because of course he does. Steve understands every time, before Bucky even knows what it is that he wants. He takes his shirt off, letting it drop on the floor. They stumble toward the bed, Steve on his back, Bucky on top of him. Like that, all their limbs tangled, pressed so close together, Bucky can pretend he’s home. This, he knows more than anything. This dance is so deeply ingrained in his brain that he’s so sure he’ll never forget it, not until he draws his last breath.

Steve flips them over. He unbuckles Bucky’s belt and pulls the buttons of his jeans off with both hands. Bucky swallows, painfully hard at this point. Steve was always something to behold, when he was sixteen and inexperienced, all slender limbs and shaky hands, just as now, every muscle a sharp line and his relentless hunger, his steady desire never seeming to stop amazing Bucky.

Bucky runs his fingers on the edges of Steve’s biceps before holding on tight, pulling him back down for another kiss. He could die like this, encaged in his warmth, the rest of the world forgotten. What else ever existed except for this? For them, like this, gasping for air but never again letting go? This love can never be replicated. Nothing would ever be close to comparison.

Steve kisses his cheek, then finds the spot behind Bucky’s ear that never fails to make him moan. He presses a line of soft little kisses down his throat, his chest. The gentleness of this man who could manage so much violence. Bucky buries a hand in his hair. It’s so much longer now. Bucky has never seen him like this. Steve has changed, too, it’s only fair. Bucky is the one who tried to disappear. But this pull, this attraction to the core of Steve, it would always win.

Doesn’t mean it’s right. Doesn’t mean it works. It’s just there, between them, forever. Bucky indulged before. One more time won’t mean anything.

Steve slides the jeans off Bucky’s thighs after a couple tries. He huffs, like he had to use any real strength. “How do you even put these on? How do you get a hard-on when these are probably made for women?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Oh, now, he complains. You love my ass in these.”

“Love your ass in anything,” Steve says with a shrug, like that’s an obvious statement.

Bucky flushes a little. Steve smirks as he peels off Bucky’s boxers, freeing his hard cock that slaps against his belly with a soft pop. Steve looks down and then up at him, as if to say, see? But Bucky didn’t come all the way to Bushwick to chitchat.

“You’re going to run your mouth all day or you’re going to put it to good use?”

“So bossy for someone who ran here to have sex with me.”

Bucky groans, hiding his face behind his hands. Steve chuckles lightly, like this is so funny to him. Probably is. Bucky almost has time to regret his impulsive decision when Steve all but swallows him down. He holds Bucky down with both hands on his hips, so he can’t buck up and fuck into Steve’s mouth. Bucky moans loudly, pressing his hands into his own cheeks. Steve sucks slowly up until Bucky’s dick falls off his lips.

“I told you, Buck, no one’s here. I wanna hear you.”

Bucky lets his head roll to the side, shuffling down until he’s comfortable against the pillows. He knows there’s no use protesting. When Steve sets his mind to undoing Bucky thoroughly, there’s nothing that will stop him. There’s been times, where he teased Bucky for hours, until he was a writhing mess, begging for him. There’s been many times when that was what Bucky wanted, needed without knowing. This is not one of these days, though.

Steve takes Bucky back in his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks, sucking in earnest. It surprises a quiet moan out of Bucky. Then, Steve pulls out and his hand replaces his mouth. He gives the head of Bucky’s cock tentative licks that drives him wild. Steve knows what he’s doing, the bastard. He hasn’t forgotten any of his tricks. He gets Bucky panting, cursing, trying his best to move under Steve’s iron grip. It’s a lost cause, he knows, so he gives in. He melts into Steve’s touch, his mouth or his hands, just his overall presence. The warmth of him. His never-ending love.

When he comes, it feels like it lasts forever. Steve doesn’t let up, he swallows everything down, licks him clean, keeps his hands on Bucky’s hips. Bucky feels like he’s floating, like his body has been emptied, is now weightless and content. Steve cuddles up to him and Bucky brings his mouth to his. Steve goes easily.

“Good?” Steve whispers against his lips.

Bucky kisses him again, because he can. Because that’s his favorite thing to do in the whole world. When they finally break apart, he smirks. “Yeah, not too bad, I guess.”

Steve pushes on his shoulder and laughs. He’s happy too, Bucky realizes, still just as taken aback by that idea. Steve loves him back. Steve wants him too. He strokes his hair, his cheek.

“Anyone tell you how beautiful you are, lately?” Bucky says quietly.

Steve kisses his palm. “Tell me anyway.”

Bucky gently turns him until Steve’s on his back. Steve’s skin is taunt under his fingers, hard lines after hard lines. It’s been so long since he had him like that, open and wanting, with all the time in the world. Except, Sam could come back any minute. But still, he can at least give it the illusion.

He runs his hands on Steve’s torso, on his rippling abdomen muscles, down to the vee of his hips. He barely scratches but the skin reddens anyway. Bucky hooks both his indexes and middle fingers on his waistband and pulls. He presses his mouth there, licking a path down his crotch. Steve shivers everywhere. Bucky pulls back, just for a second, to allow himself to be smug about it. Steve tugs at his hair in response.

“Now, who’s in hurry?” Bucky asks.

But Bucky isn’t as dedicated as Steve. He can’t drag this out for how much he wants to put his mouth on Steve. He taps at Steve’s hips for him to lift them up so that Bucky can pull his boxers off. He flings them across the room and takes Steve’s length in his hand. He’s already leaking, so goddamn easy for Bucky. He gives a couple of strokes before he opens his mouth and sink slowly down the length.

Steve breathes in sharply, holding onto Bucky’s hair. For a brief moment, Bucky remembers how much Steve loved his hair long, how he would grab on, wrap his hand in when they were fucking. He doesn’t regret letting it grow back, all of a sudden.

Bucky takes him all in his mouth, until he feels Steve at the back of his throat and almost chokes, humming around Steve’s shaft. He pulls back, all sloppy with spit and flushed and Steve moans at the sight, so Bucky does it again and again. It doesn’t take much work to have Steve come deep in his mouth. This isn’t the safest, but Bucky only realizes once it’s too late. He swallows anyway, before sucking up and down one last time. He breathes in and out, kneeling there, before he collapses next to Steve.

They lay there for maybe a minute. Steve has barely any time to catch his breath before Bucky says, “we’re never doing this again.”

Steve blinks at him blankly a couple times. “What?”

“Fucking,” Bucky mutters, “this is the last time. I’m not doing this ever again.”

“You came here,” Steve protests, already propping himself up on his elbows, “you basically threw yourself at me…”

“Yeah,” Bucky cuts angrily, rolling to his side to pull his boxers back on. He can shower once he gets home. Doesn’t have to matter. “And now I’m telling you it’s not happening again. It wasn’t about you. This is convenience, alright?”

“Convenience?” Steve repeats, his tone low and quiet, but Bucky can tell he’s ready to explode, “what am I, your goddamn whore?”

“No, Steve,” Bucky says, sighing, “you wanted it as much as me. It’s fucking convenience, we both know that. I needed to get it out of my system, so did you, and now that we’ve done it, I’m done. Just letting you know.”

Steve reaches out and grabs on Bucky’s wrist tightly. “The fuck is this supposed to mean? This is another one of your specials, huh? Bucky Barnes doesn’t give a shit hour or something?”

Bucky breaks his hold and steps away. “Fuck you.”

“Oh, great, now you’re just going to walk out again and pretend nothing ever happened. What a fucking surprise.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Bucky spits out, “who do you think you are? I didn’t make you do anything. You could have kicked me out.”

Steve rubs a hand at his face tiredly. He lays back down on the bed. Suddenly, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Steve’s anger, he can deal with. Steve’s acceptance of Bucky’s bullshit? Well, he’s never encountered that before.

“Yeah, you’re right. Just go. Why the fuck do I still care?”

Bucky swallows, looking down at his bare feet like he’s sixteen again and his mom just told him to go to his room. It’s strange to see how easily Steve pulled all his anger out of him, how honesty in the face of half-truths and avoidance can do that.

“I’ll see you around, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, after a minute of silence too long.

“Yeah, whatever,” Steve answers, still not looking at him, laying on the bed naked and too calm. “I guess I’ll wait to see if you decide to block me or fuck me again.”

“Steve…”

“No, just go. I don’t owe you anything either. It works both ways or none at all.”

Bucky sets his jaw. “Yeah. I, uh, I mean we don’t but…”

“Bucky,” Steve grits out, interrupting, his eyes now tightly shut, “why are you still here?”

Bucky swallows. He gathers his clothes sheepishly. The only sound in the room is their measured breathing. Bucky closes the door slowly. He feels dirty, guilty, like he’s committed the world’s worst crime. He goes home and tries his best to scrub Steve’s scent off from his skin. He can’t manage. He tugs at the bracelet on his wrist but can’t take it off either.

*****

“I, uh, ended things with Pietro,” Bucky tells Natasha a couple of days later, as soon as she gets in his apartment.

Natasha nods patiently. “I know. Wanda told me the day after he broke up with you.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting to hear what pathetic excuse you’d give me for your shitty behavior,” she says with a shrug. “The fact that you even said you broke up with him paints the whole picture, doesn’t it? What the hell, James?”

Bucky blows out all the air in his lungs. “I just…I suck, don’t I? There’s no two ways about it. I’m the worst. Can you believe that Pietro was willing to give me everything I ever asked of Steve and I still managed to fuck it up?”

“In all honesty, yeah, I can. I knew this would happen. You don’t know what you want. It’s not fair to put this on anyone.”

“So, this is your I told you so, moment?”

Natasha gives him a soft, sad smile. “I wish I could gloat, but I don’t really feel like it. What are you going to do now?”

They both sit down on the couch and Bucky has a flashback of that time, over a year ago, when they were discussing whether Bucky should serve Steve with divorce papers. It feels like he hasn’t taken a step forward in a whole year, stuck in stasis, somehow.

He doesn’t want to tell Natasha about how he rushed to Steve’s place, had sex with him and left like a criminal. They sit in an uncomfortable silence. Bucky stares at his folded legs, his head hanging heavy on his closed fist.

“When’s the last time you remember me being happy? Not anxious, not desperate, not lost, just glad to do something? Enjoying himself doing something? Because I can’t.”

“James,” she starts.

“I can’t remember,” he says. Tears well up in his eyes and he’s so embarrassed. He’s a child, she was right. “I don’t even know how long it’s been. I liked Pietro, I loved Steve, but there was always something, you know? In the back of my head, something holding me back. I like my job, I love you, I’ve got my sisters…What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I broken?”

“No,” she says strongly, “of course you’re not broken.”

“I’ve ruined Steve and then I ruined Pietro. Before that, I ruined me, I guess.”

He wipes his cheeks furiously, ashamed of his weaknesses. Natasha has seen him cry countless times now and he still can’t shake that feeling of powerlessness, of disgust for himself. He’s been told that he was strong, that he was a survivor but he’s an idiot that got lucky, every time. And now, what’s left? Nothing but a shell.

“You need help, James, but you’re not broken. Everyone needs help sometimes. I need help and I’ve got you. You’re the kindest man, I know. Most the time anyway,” she says with a little smile. He knows she’s trying to cheer him up, but it doesn’t work. “You’ve got me, you’ll always have me, you know that? I’m not going anywhere. No one is leaving you, ok?”

Bucky shakes his head. Tears fall from his eyes helplessly. Natasha opens his arms and cradles his head, like he’s fragile. Like he’s something to be careful with, something that might break into a thousand of pieces at the shortest notice. He almost wants to push her away.

“James, look at me,” she all but orders.

He obeys but stays silent.

“You are not broken, do you understand?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers. He tastes his own tears as he opens his mouth. He’s pathetic.

“Yeah but everyone does. It happens.”

“You warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

She presses an index into his forehead. “Yeah, look at that thick skull.”

Bucky sniffles and dries his eyes. He looks down at his hands in between his legs. Natasha sits back down on her ankles in front of him. She’s not smiling, but she doesn’t seem too angry.

“You talked to Pietro?” he tries weakly.

“Yeah.”

“He’s pissed as hell?”

“Yeah,” she replies mildly.

“I wanted to call…Or see him or something. I think he blocked me.”

“Give him time. He’ll cool off.”

Bucky nods. The corners of his eyes prickle again. He doesn’t want to cry anymore. He feels so weak. He’s not even sure that he would be able to walk if he stood up. It’s all so goddamn stupid.

“Could you…I really want him to know I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have led him on like that. I hurt him, over and over, and that’s on me. I just want him to know that. He’s a great guy.”

Natasha strokes his clothed knee. “He’s going to be ok. What about you, though?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky lies. He laughs. He gestures at himself with a wave of his hand, “clearly.”

“Are you going to talk to Steve?”

This would be a great time to talk about that afternoon he spent at Steve’s place. Bucky sucks in his lower lip and shakes his head instead.

“We’re not good for each other. Doesn’t matter how much we love each other. It wasn’t enough before, it won’t be now. It’s…We’re too fucked up. Too much history. It won’t ever work out.”

Natasha pats his knee and puts her feet down on the floor again. She opens her work bag. There’s a bottle of merlot in there and Bucky smirks.

“Came prepared, huh?”

“I told you I knew about the break-up. Or what should I call it, since he was never your boyfriend?”

Bucky would laugh if he felt any better. “You have the best comedic timing. Anyone ever tell you that?”

She gets up to find them glasses and the bottle opener. She comes back and ruffles his hair. “I love you, do you know that? And I’m here for you.”

Bucky swallows. He knows, of course he does, but it’s always nice to hear it. “Even if I’m an asshole and I broke your friend’s heart?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you only bruised Pietro’s ego,” she says with a slight shrug, “but yeah. You’re a moron but you’re my moron.”

Bucky huffs but takes the glass she hands him. “Thank you, Nat. For everything.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says around her own glass.

He smiles and she smiles back. “Enough feelings talk?”

“Oh, god, yes, for a whole month at least.”

*****

Bucky has spent years trying to stand up to Natasha. He still hasn’t learned how. Maybe it’s because he knows that she bosses him around because she cares about him and knows he needs to be pushed more than anything, maybe it’s also because she can be awfully persuasive.

“They make the cocktails in the big bowls there, and they make it look like tiny aquariums. You know what I mean? A lot of lights and little huts at the bottom. They even make the brown sugar look like sand. It’s really great.”

It does sound great. Except for the one thing.

“But why did you have to invite Steve?” he persists.

“It’s one evening. You were together for twenty years. You’ve spent so many nights out with him. One more won’t break you.”

Bucky sighs. He still hasn’t told Natasha that he slept with Steve, again. He’s hoping to take that to the grave. Also, he’s hoping that he will be able to never see Steve and that no one will ever mention their relationship ever again. Low chance, but still.

“Seventeen,” he corrects anyway, “not twenty.”

“You love details, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Maria will be there. She can be your divorce buffer if you want.”

Bucky smiles. “She’d love that. We don’t deserve Maria.”

“You don’t deserve me either,” she says sweetly, cuddling up to him.

Bucky rolls his eyes but opens one arm anyway for a half hug and scratches her scalp. He can do one night of awkward conversation with Steve. It’s a group setting, anyway. He can deal with Natasha being nosy the day after too. One Saturday night with his closest friend didn’t used to have to include pre-negotiations but that’s his own fault really. All he has to do is keep it in his pants for one evening. He can do that. It’s already been almost three weeks since he last saw Steve and he’s made it so far already.

*****

The aquarium bowls cocktail bar is up in the village. Bucky doesn’t change from his tight jeans and t-shirt while Natasha stops at her place on the way to put on some high heels. They find Maria by the entrance. She hugs them tightly then follows them to place their orders. Sam finally appears, alone, with a big smile on his face.

They greet each other quickly, gather the impressive amount of alcohol they ordered and find a table under the wooden palm trees posted everywhere.

“Where’s Rogers?” Bucky asks as they sit down, then immediately regrets it.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. Bucky can see her from the corner of his eye but decides to ignore her for now.

“Couldn’t make it,” Sam says with a shrug, “says he’s got a project to finish off. Could be just jerking off around the apartment. You know how it is.”

Bucky doesn’t know really but only gives a vague nod. He still has to get used to Sam and Steve the roommates. It’s been three months since they’ve started hanging out regularly again and it still feels odd, this dynamic between them. Before the divorce, they were best friends, but now they live together. Bucky almost feels a little jealous. He feels mostly ridiculous and pushes that thought down in his brain as far as possible.

He tries his best to enjoy his cocktails and his friends’ company. This is what he’s got now. He’s a single man in New York City with enough money to not have to worry. He can’t even get into the conversations. He hears the jokes and makes himself smile, hiding his boredom against his straw in his cocktail bowl. When did he stop looking forward to things like this? He was doing so much better. Or wasn’t he? Was he just riding on Pietro’s youthful energy?

Pietro was so fun. He was carefree. There was no problem, no trauma around Pietro. He was a clean page and Bucky had muddied it, torn it off. Was that his one chance? His own shot at being happy ever again? Was he still that person that Steve had fallen for? The person that Steve gave everything to, cherished, promised eternity to? He was most definitely the person that had thrown it all away, more than once too.

This is stupid. Bucky knows it as soon as he opens his WhatsApp. In all his thirty-five years of life, he never would have thought he’d be the type of person to send a “you up” text but there he is.

He clicks on his conversation with Steve and can see that he was online ten minutes ago. So, he can’t be asleep yet. That saves Bucky the moral conundrum of becoming a fuck boy cliché. He sends instead, _mind if I come over?_

He bites on his lip, looking up at the group, trying to look innocuous. Natasha is laughing brightly at something Sam said, while Maria sips her cocktail with a wide smile. No one noticed then. Bucky’s phone buzzes.

 _Don’t, I’m busy_.

Bucky almost snickers out loud. Sure, at midnight, at home on a Saturday night.

_Then, you need a break. I can be there in 30._

It takes another couple of minutes for Steve to reply again. Bucky almost thinks he might have meant it. Almost.

_Ok but be quick before I change my mind._

Bucky grins down at his phone like an idiot. Too easy. He finishes his drink in one gulp and clears his throat.

“Sorry guys, I have to be early tomorrow, I have to call it a night.”

There’s a chorus of boos as Bucky stands up and hugs every one of them. No one really objects. Natasha gives him a look that lets him know she will demand more information later but otherwise stays silent. It’s enough for Bucky who grabs his things and heads out quickly.

*****

When Steve opens the door, he’s already topless, in loose sweatpants. Bucky beams at him. It’s probably just the Moscow mule bowls hitting him all at once. Bucky closes the door behind him and slides a hand against Steve’s waist, up to his ribcage, pressing hard, feeling every taunt muscle. He pushes Steve against the wall. He crowds him with his whole body.

“Got started without me?” He asks against his lips.

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer and kisses Steve, deep and open, a little uncoordinated, but searing all the same.

Bucky moves a hand up his chest and is surprised by the smoothness under his fingers. He pulls back, just an inch. “You shave your chest now?”

Steve grins, like the cat who got the cream. “I’m single now, Buck. I’m trying all sorts of new things.” Bucky takes the opportunity to twist his nipple. “Ow!” He yelps.

“Funny guy,” Bucky says, before going back for another kiss.

There’s something about kissing Steve that Bucky can never get enough of. It’s not really the familiarity of it, because after spending nine months without ever seeing him, of course Bucky had forgotten about the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. Even after three weeks, it feels different. Bucky has a fleeting thought, imagining Steve with other people. With someone he sees casually, like Bucky tried to do with Pietro.

He’s brought back to reality by Steve’s hands on his hips, snaking under his t-shirt. Steve kisses his neck, bringing him as close to him as possible.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispers by Bucky’s ear. A shiver runs down his back. God, how easy is it for Steve to rile him up. “I want to make you scream for me, Buck.”

“Yeah?” Bucky manages. Steve bites at the junction of his neck and his shoulder. Bucky moans loudly. Too easy.

“Isn’t that why you came here? Can’t ever get enough of me, huh?”

“Shut up,” is all the answer Bucky has for him before he can find Steve’s lips again.

Steve rids him of his t-shirt and pushes him towards his bedroom. Bucky saves his one last coherent thought, hoping that he will succeed in avoiding Sam a second time and save everyone the awkwardness.

*****

“Are you asleep?” Bucky asks, poking Steve’s cheek.

Steve mumbles something but there’s no mistaking the easy rise and fall of his chest. His mouth is half open and Bucky can bet he’s going to start snoring any second now.

“Jesus fucking Christ, we’re old now,” he mutters in the dark.

Steve stirs at that. “I can go again,” he assures, his eyes still tightly closed, “give me twenty.”

Bucky scoots a little closer and wraps an arm around Steve’s chest, pillowing his head on Steve’s folded bicep. He kisses Steve’s neck, just a soft press of his lips against the skin there. He should go. This is too familiar, too comfortable, too easy to get used to all over again.

He moves up to kiss Steve’s jaw, then his right eyelid, then his brow and lingers on his forehead. He’s probably kissed this face a million times. How strange is it that he still wants to? That he hasn’t grown tired of this? That he passion he feels for this body, for this man, hasn’t run dry after all these years, hasn’t run its course?

Steve pulls his arm down, bringing Bucky right against him, holding around his shoulders tightly. Bucky sighs. He runs his hand on Steve’s smooth chest. He kisses his collarbone as softly as he can manage, not to wake him up further.

“I gotta go, baby,” he whispers, “I’m driving to Connecticut tomorrow, I need to be up early.”

“I’ll drive,” Steve mumbles again, definitely half unconscious, “just stay here.”

Bucky smiles against his skin. “No, you’re not going with me. Let me up, I’ll see you later.”

Steve tightens his grip. Bucky sighs. He curls his fingers around Steve’s ribs. That does the trick, and he rolls over on his own. Bucky kisses his shoulder before sliding off the bed and going to find his clothes.

As he puts his socks back on and looks for his converse, he looks over at Steve’s sleeping form and finds a new little bubble of guilt, rising behind his ribs, travelling up to his throat. He swallows, thinking of how many times this happened in reverse. How many times Steve left in the middle of the night, running back to SHIELD, leaving Bucky to wonder if he dreamed the whole night. This shouldn’t feel like revenge, like finally being able to let Steve have a taste of his own medicine, but grief is relentless and it takes no prisoner. Bucky will find solace in moments like this if that will give him some relief.

His shoes aren’t in the bedroom. He closes the door softly behind him. He finds them by the sofa, along his jacket. He shrugs it on, ready to leave, when he meets Sam’s eyes in the living room. Sam is holding a glass of water, barefoot by the sink.

Of course, Bucky’s fuck-drunk and just alcohol drunk brain would have forgotten about stealth.

“Uh,” Bucky starts. He finds very quickly that he’s got no explanation for this.

“It was you? Just now…the fuck?” Sam asks, a little bewildered. “You had to be up early?!”

“Well. Two things can be true at the same time.”

“You’re fucking again? You and Steve? What…”

Sam stares at him accusingly, his hands on his hips, like Bucky is about to get stoned for all his sins. Bucky wishes he could be anywhere but where he’s standing. Nebraska is great at this time of year, he’s heard.

“I was just, I was leaving. Now, actually. So, if you don’t mind…”

Bucky starts to take a step toward the door, but Sam goes on anyway, a lot quieter, “he’s still in love with you, do you know that?”

Does Bucky know the Earth is still round? Does he know that it revolves around the sun? Of course, he does. How could he not know? But just like the fact that Steve loves him, they’re facts he’s known for so long that most days, he can decide to ignore it.

“This isn’t your business, Sam. He’s not your charge. Stay out of it.”

“Yes,” Sam says stubbornly, “he’s my friend. Hell, he’s my best friend. You didn’t have to watch him try to put himself back together after you fucked off. I did. And now what, you’re back for a second round?”

Bucky blows out a breath. He was so close to the door. He could have just left and went home. He could have pretended for one more evening he wasn’t the world’s worst jerkoff.

“Sam, listen to me,” Bucky says, turning around slowly, keeping quiet enough in hopes he won’t wake up Steve, “we’re all adults here. I’m going to ask you calmly to mind your own business. If Steve didn’t want me here, he would have fucking said so, alright?”

Sam nods, not facing Bucky. “Whatever, man. I don’t know why I try anymore. Don’t know how you sleep at night. He’s a good guy. You’re ruining him. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

Bucky swallows all his anger. Nothing is left except for his all-encompassing guilt. Natasha tried to let him believe he wasn’t broken but there’s the proof right in front of him again. He has no idea why he came here, why he let Steve fuck him, why he craved his touch so badly and let himself ask for it again. But he did it anyway.

“I’m…,” he starts but can’t finish the sentence.

Sam stares at him intently.

“I know. I’m hurting him and I know. And no, I’m not proud of it. This is…It’s fucked up. Just…We’ll figure it out, alright? Just let it go. For now, at least.”

Sam shakes his head, like this was the least he expected. He finishes his water and puts the glass down. He heads towards his bedroom without another word. Bucky hopes that there is a god somewhere, with enough mercy to swallow him whole on his way home, so that he never has to face anyone else ever again.

*****

Bucky doesn’t see Steve around Stark Tower. It shouldn’t be surprising when there’s probably a thousand people working there. They don’t text each other. It’s for the best, Bucky tries to convince himself. It was a mistake, done twice, but that has to be it. They can’t keep on going like this.

Problem is, the 4th of July comes sooner than Bucky realized. He’s got no excuse to avoid Steve now, especially to Natasha. He hasn’t seen Sam since that night he left when Steve fell asleep but they’re in a group chat together and they’ve been in contact. So, really, he can’t think an excuse solid enough to pass on Steve and Sam’s party. And, of course, Elisabeth is going, so Bucky definitely has to make an appearance.

Bucky walks the ten blocks under the July sun with Natasha and Elisabeth. He tries to keep his brooding to a minimum, in hopes to look as innocent as possible. He is fairly moody, so it could look like his normal behavior on any given day. Both Natasha and Elisabeth leave it alone.

They go up Steve and Sam’s apartment. Apparently, they have set up something on the roof, all the neighbors are there, and no one is supposed to mention the cake and the fact that it’s not just Independence Day.

Natasha is the one who presses the buzzer and Sam is the one to let them in. If he’s got the events of last month rattling around his brain, he doesn’t let anything show. He wraps Bucky in a loose hug and points them toward the kitchen. Steve isn’t there. Bucky takes a deep breath, cracking a beer open. Elisabeth stares at him intently. He almost curses himself, remembering this is the first time she’s seeing Steve in the same room as Bucky since the divorce. Since the whole Passover with Pietro debacle. Bucky definitely has picked the perfect time to be as awkward as possible.

“James?” Natasha asks, pulling on his sleeve, “everything ok?”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, I’m splendid. I thought the party was on the roof?”

“Sure, head on up,” Sam says, “Steve must be up there. Don’t ruin the surprise, alright?”

Bucky only shrugs. Elisabeth doesn’t add anything, for once in her life, and follows them towards the stairs that lead where the music is blasting trendy summer tunes.

Bucky has never heard the song before and he’s reminded, a little bitterly, that if he hadn’t thoroughly destroyed what he had shakily started with Pietro, he probably would. He hasn’t been out clubbing since Pietro walked out of his apartment. He hasn’t had the occasion and, really, he doesn’t particularly miss it, but there’s something there, that hurts. The feeling of what could have been, had Bucky been less fucked up, less hung on Steve.

Now, standing there, in the middle of Steve’s party, he wonders if he’s making even half of a good choice. He’s long forgotten about doing the right thing, but he keeps hoping he can find something good in this deep mess he’s in.

And right there, in the middle of the crowd, a little taller than anyone else, the bright sun bouncing on his blond hair like a crooked halo, is Steve. Bucky wonders how he keeps being stricken by his sight, every time. He should know, by now, after having spent a lifetime by Steve Rogers’ side. It wasn’t enough a couple of months ago. It probably won’t ever.

“Hey! Buck,” he greets fondly, waving towards them.

Somehow, in the crowd of strangers, Steve managed to spot him too.

“Hi,” Bucky says with a small wave.

“Hello, we’re here too,” Natasha says with a smirk, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist, “how are you, stranger?”

“It’s good to see you, Nat. You too, Lizzie.” He opens his arms and lifts Elisabeth off the ground. She giggles like she did when she was a kid. “What do they feed you at college? You’re growing so tall!”

“Aren’t you too young to make dad jokes?” Elisabeth says but she doesn’t step too far away from him. Bucky gets it. There’s an inevitable warmth about Steve.

Bucky isn’t sure of the protocol at hand. He could hug Steve like he did when they went to see that movie, because Steve has just hugged Natasha and Elisabeth. But then, they hadn’t slept with each other the last two times they had seen each other. This is uncharted territory.

Steve doesn’t seem to go through the same mental monologue as Bucky and just grabs him in a half embrace. He pats the space between his shoulder blades twice and backs away. Bucky schools his features into something resembling neutrality and continues sipping on his beer.

“Been told not to mention your birthday but I did get you a present,” Bucky tells Steve.

Steve nods, grinning a little. “That’s nice, Buck, thank you. You can give it to me later.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow and catches himself because he makes a fool of himself unprompted. Natasha sniggers by his side, having heard that anyway. Elisabeth looks in between the two of them with wide eyes.

“I take it back,” she says immediately, “the dad jokes were so much better.”

*****

The sun isn’t setting just yet and the fireworks haven’t started. Bucky has been happy to see his old squad from the army, the ones that still live around New York, and for maybe a good hour, he had fun. Now, he’s more or less bored, only slightly drunk and kind of can already see his comfortable couch and his Netflix watchlist. He sits down on his own, drinking his fourth or fifth beer of the day, by the edge of the roof terrace.

Bucky turns around to look at the view. The sky is clear enough that he can make out the Empire State Building and the Manhattan skyline. He spent so many nights of the 4th like this, up by the fire escape creaky steps, hiding from Winnifred and Sarah’ threats of bedtime, begging Steve to stay, at least to see the fireworks go up. It’s been years since he was that giddy kid that couldn’t hold still and that wanted nothing more than escape the loudness of his home and three sisters, that wanted to climb as high as possible, with Steve following along, but for as much things change, things don’t.

Bucky barely hears Steve sit down next to him. He looks at the sky too. Bucky turns to stare at his profile. This condo has a better view than theirs did. He hasn’t been in the apartment where they lived together in over a year and he hasn’t thought about it that many times. He wonders who lives there now. If they are happier with it than he was.

“Do you want to go back down?” Steve asks quietly, jilting Bucky away from his own thoughts.

Bucky looks around, to see where Natasha is, giggling by the grill with Sam by her side. Elisabeth is chatting away with girls Bucky doesn’t recognize. It’d be safe, in a way, this could remain his dirty secret for one more day.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky replies with a smile.

Steve looks sheepish, but not in the way that he does when he’s ashamed of himself, more like he’s slightly embarrassed. “I’m just…It’s still hard, all the fireworks, you know?”

Oh. So, this wasn’t a come on. Bucky is a blubbering mess.

“Yeah, of course, I know. Its…Yeah, it’s fine, Steve. I forgot…I’m sorry. How long has it been since I spent the 4th with you? That’s…”

“Yeah,” Steve cuts without strength, “let’s just go down, Buck.”

“And I can use this as an excuse to give you my present.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, a smile fighting its way on his lips. “If it is your dick, Barnes...”

Bucky pushes on his shoulders, laughs and follows him off the roof. “My dick isn’t a present!” he protests, “you have to at least earn it.”

“Uh, huh,” Steve says, “never have to work that hard for it.”

“Yeah, well, guess you’re special like that.”

Steve makes them sit in what looks like a little office with a big window. The view gives into the city, almost unobstructed. During the day, the light must be incredible in here.

“When we first looked for a place, I was still with SHIELD, but I really wanted to have a room like this, where I could draw. Now, it’s my actual office. Sometimes, I can’t believe it myself.”

Bucky nods, scanning over the stack of papers on the desk. There’s definitely a lot of professional looking logos and advertising material but also sketches. Some watercolor, some just pencil. Bucky recognizes Sarah’s face first. The way Steve captured her warm eyes, her bright smile is incredible. He traces the lines on her forehead with his finger. It’s been a long time since he looked at that woman and he feels a terrible ache for her.

Steve doesn’t stop him, so he opens the notebook sitting there. He can tell it’s new material because that’s nothing like what Steve used to draw, back in the war, everything a sharp, angry line, with harsh shadows. Now, every subject looks a lot more human, their expression softer and warmer. There’s many of Sam, cooking and laughing, just existing. Bucky flips the pages and looks back at Steve who avoids his eyes. He only understands when he catches the sight of himself.

It’s him but from a while ago. It’s a whole page, too. He’s laying down on a bed, completely naked, his lower half barely hidden by a sheet. One leg is folded towards him and his hands are in his lap. He’s kneading his own palm in worry, his shoulders are hunched, his hair is hiding most of his face. There isn’t much light in this sketch.

He swallows. This is something that happened probably a hundred times, after they came home. Bucky, up at night, slowly destroyed by something he couldn’t even remember, incapable of rest. Some nights, Steve would try to offer his comfort, but Bucky always pushed him away. After a while, he would just roll on the other side and pretend he hadn’t been woken up. Bucky had never realized how haunting this must have looked. He turns the page with a shaky hand.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“These are really good, Steve,” Bucky says, his voice steady enough to pretend he’s not moved by any of this.

There’s another couple of half sketches of Bucky, in the deepest throes of his recovery. With his hair barely having grown back from the army or his hair long and sticking to his forehead with sweat. This can’t be all that Steve thinks about. He turns page after page and finds one sketch of him, now, with this hair, smirking something cheeky, too proud of his own joke and Bucky finds his breath again. There’s another one of him in the suit he wore when he met Steve again, in the Stark Tower lobby, his hand at his chin in consideration. He’s not smiling but he looks like a real person, not a ghost chasing Steve. The only color is on that exposed skin on the wrist, the stones of the bracelet impossibly bright.

He sets the book down. “Jesus, Rogers, obsessed with me much?”

Steve shrugs and moves closer. He picks up that watercolor painting of Sarah with a fond smile. That’s a beautiful piece. Bucky studies Steve’s face, the way his eyes don’t seem to focus on anything, how he’s lost in the memory of his mother. Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

“She would be so proud of you,” Bucky promises.

“Sometimes, I’m not so sure about that.”

“I am.”

Steve puts the painting down carefully again and looks at Bucky. He grabs on Bucky’s left bicep and lets himself be held. “You’re the only other person in the world that knew her like I did. It means a lot to me, Buck.”

Bucky can’t help himself. It’s too much, it’s like a wound being punched open and left to bleed, over and over again. There’s only one remedy he knows for it. He kisses Steve’s cheek, just leaves his lips there, on the skin just above the beginning of his beard. Steve closes his eyes and shivers. Bucky kisses his mouth. Steve gasps into the kiss.

“Happy birthday,” Bucky says against his lips. He catches himself before he says anything else. I love you is waiting to fall off his tongue. He holds back.

Steve cups Bucky’s face with one hand and strokes a thumb on his cheek. He smiles, small and shy, something barely discernible with the one light on in the room.

“Thank you, Buck.”

Bucky hears it then, how Steve longs to say it too. But if they cross that line, if they say it again, there’s no pretending anymore. Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll do, how he’ll cope, in the face of honesty.

“Don’t say it,” Bucky says quickly, “don’t think about anything. Just enjoy this.”

He tilts Steve’s chin towards him with two fingers. He imagines that if Steve truly wanted to, he could push him away. He knows, though, that there isn’t a world where Steve Rogers’ iron will doesn’t crumble in Bucky’s hands. This, something this real, this deep, it has to be felt by two people at once or it wouldn’t truly exist.

He kisses him again. This time, it’s softer, almost enquiring. He wants to say, we can stop if you want. This for you as much as this is for me. But Bucky doesn’t say a word. He kisses Steve again and again. He holds on to his marble carved body, strong and infallible, never-changing and ever-present.

“Come to bed with me, Buck,” Steve whispers.

Bucky nods. He lets himself be led into Steve’s room. Upstairs, the party goes on. Bucky thinks he hears the fireworks starting but he can’t be sure. Steve’s steps are just as assured. He closes the door behind him with a slight smile.

“The windows here are double glazed, can’t really hear much.”

Bucky smirks, “I see you didn’t take me here to get me naked then.”

“You did say my present wasn’t your dick.”

Bucky shrugs. He takes off his t-shirt and starts undoing his belt. Steve grins and does the same. Bucky walks closer. He follows the curve of Steve’s collarbone, down to the space in between his pecs, all the way to his underwear band. He hooks a finger there and pulls Steve to him. Steve huffs a breath that might be a moan. Bucky catches it with his lips.

“No, Rogers, my dick comes for free. Your present was very expensive.”

“That so?”

“Be nice, you might find out later.”

Bucky wants to detail this in his mind. Engrave it in his brain so he can keep it forever. Steve, this golden god, right there in his arms, adoring and forgiving. Every time Bucky hopes he’ll be stronger, that he’ll stand up while the wave of desire crashes over him, but every time he is proven wrong.

“I want to go slow,” he whispers by Steve’s ear, “let me take care of you for once.”

Steve grabs on to Bucky’s hips, his fingers splayed out like he’s not really sure this is real, like he’s measuring the expanse of skin, checking against what he remembers and what’s in front of him. Bucky makes him look into his eyes.

“I’m here, Steve,” Bucky says softly.

Bucky lays kisses across his jaw. He follows the curve of Steve’s neck with his open mouth. He stops to bite at his ear and sucks a mark there, or half of one. His fingers keep at the zipper of Steve’s jeans. He pushes him gently toward the bed until Steve falls over on his back. Bucky settles on his thighs before he returns to his mouth.

“This…,” Steve starts. His throat clicks. “This is good, right?”

Bucky shakes together the two braincells he’s got left. “Yeah, it’s pretty good, Steve. Why’d do…Something wrong?”

“No, I mean, Buck, we’re good at this, right?”

“What, sex?”

“Let me finish. We’re good at this, but this isn’t all what we are. I want you to know that. That’s not all I want. There’s more to this. To us.”

Bucky finds that his throat is impossibly dry. “Let’s not…Not now, Steve.”

“Bucky,” he tries again, a little stronger.

“Not now,” Bucky cuts, “give me one more night. Tomorrow, we’ll talk. But not now. Please?”

“It kills me when you go, Buck. You know that, right?”

Bucky has vivid flashes of memories compiling themselves in his mind. Every single time during their marriage when Steve left, when Bucky was going crazy with want, when all he could care about was whether or not Steve would come home at all. And now, he has this. Steve looking right at him, begging for his mercy. If Bucky would be a better man, he’d grant it.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, as unaffected as he can manage while straddling a man’s lap, “now you know what that feels like.”

Steve sets his jaw. It doesn’t take knowing him for all his life to know he has a few opinions about that statement, but Bucky doesn’t want to hear it. He gets back to the task he set himself. He rolls Steve’s jeans off in silence. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up.

Bucky doesn’t get very far, trying to have sex with a mountain of a man that won’t budge. He tries to pry off his boxers, but Steve is propped up by his elbows and his righteousness, apparently, and impossibly immobile.

“I never wanted to leave you,” Steve mutters, “you were always all that I wanted.”

Bucky gives up on Steve’s boxers and gets up, sliding off his own jeans and underwear before sitting back down on the bed, his knees folded under him, right by Steve’s left side.

“Steve,” he says in an exhale, “let’s not rewrite the past. Let’s not even consider the past. Be honest and tell me that’s really what you want right now,” he says, pointing to the obvious bulge a couple of inches away from him.

“Bucky,” he says but that’s his third attempt. Steve isn’t a quitter, but he is easy to wear down when it comes to this.

“Shut up and fuck me, Rogers, I swear to god.”

Bucky goes in for another kiss and Steve doesn’t fight it anymore. He lays right down, tangling in his hands in Bucky’s hair. Bucky backs away to slide a hand under Steve’s boxers and hold his cock firmly, squeezing before jerking upward. Steve moans, just a soft sound that Bucky wants to spend days drawing out of him. He probably has already. Like most things pertaining to Steve, he can’t seem to get enough.

He finds the lines of Steve’s abs with his hands until he can get his mouth of the head of his cock. Steve immediately pushes his hips forward trying to get deeper in, but Bucky pulls away. He runs his hands up the sides of Steve’s body. Steve shivers. He’s already flushed from the tip of his ears down to his chest.

“Where’s the lube?”

Steve straightens up. He rummages around his bedside table drawers and tosses a bottle and a condom to Bucky. There’s nothing terrible about this. It’s a good anyway, safe sex and everything, but Bucky can’t help the pinch at his heart that reminds him that this is temporary. Steve is single. Bucky is single. This is sex that, in the grand scheme of things, won’t solve anything.

Doesn’t have to matter. The present is the present. Bucky will take what he can. He traces the outline of Steve’s plush lower lip with his index, rolling it under his finger. Steve’s tongue peers out, just the smallest of licks but if Bucky’s dick could get any harder than it is, it would.

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” he says under his breath.

“You said you were taking care of me. I’m still waiting.”

Smug jerk. Bucky adores him. “Also said this was going to be slow and sensual, didn’t I?”

Steve smiles. Bucky’s heart flutters in his chest. Unfair, so unfair, the pull that he has on him.

“Feel free to sit back and relax,” he says, smiling back, “I’ll be doing all the hard work here.”

“You’re going to give me a show, Buck? Is that my present?”

“No, that is also for free. I’ll give you your present tomorrow.”

Bucky makes quick work of opening himself up. For all his talk about taking his time, he finds it that if he waits only a minute longer, he’ll explode. Steve watches intently, laying back against the many pillows of the bed, rubbing circles on Bucky’s thighs, his eyes so dark and hungry. Bucky rolls the condom on. He doesn’t dwell how strange that sight is.

He leans forward to kiss Steve as he slowly, slowly sinks on his length. It’s a stretch, there’s no denying it, Bucky was never the most thorough when it comes to his own body. He braces himself on Steve’s torso and lets it happen. Steve waits, patient as always, even though his breathing gets more labored and Bucky can clearly see how he’s biting on his lower lip to muffle any moans.

Bucky stays very still once Steve is all the way inside of him. He can feel it a lot more in that position. He takes a deep breath, relaxing his muscles. His eyes close despite himself. He starts moving, rolling his hips in small, slow circles. He grips at Steve’s pecs, digging his nails in, Steve hisses but keeps his grip steady on Bucky’s waist. Bucky keeps on going, higher and deeper, a little faster too. Like this, it’s too easy for Steve’s cock to drag on his prostate over and over and Bucky isn’t sure how he’s staying upwards. His mind is blank except for that deep furnace around him, inside of him.

“Bucky,” Steve says, now grasping at his wrists. He pulls Bucky forward. He stops to kiss him, open and deep. “Everyone is still up there. You have to be quieter. Ok, baby? Just…” Bucky feels more than hears Steve’s legs move behind him. The back of Steve’s thighs is suddenly behind him and his brain works too slow before Steve is burying himself in Bucky. “You know how I love to hear you, Buck. Just be quiet for me.”

Steve thrusts forward, clamping his hand over Bucky’s mouth. The half second of lucidity Bucky can gather is spent thinking about the people upstairs. If they’ve noticed how both Steve and Bucky went missing. Maybe they can blame it on the fireworks, although the roof is full of veterans with the same issues as them. Maybe no one will ask. Maybe Bucky shouldn’t care.

He can’t really, not like this, with Steve drilling into him, not giving Bucky a break. At one point, Steve’s hand moves and Bucky bites, hard, into Steve’s shoulder. Steve curses by his ear but doesn’t let up. He clutches at Bucky’s ass, spreading him even wider and pushes in again and again. Bucky is close, so close but he can’t find the words to say anything else than Steve’s name.

Steve knows, somehow. Maybe from how Bucky is clenching tightly around him, maybe from how well he can read him. Same result, really. He angles Bucky’s body straighter, arching Bucky’s back like he’s clay under his hands. He runs a hand on his torso, almost idly until he finds Bucky’s cock and starts jerking in rhythm with his own thrust. Bucky pinches his lips together so that he won’t scream his throat raw.

It doesn’t take much longer for Steve to follow. Bucky, not being held up anymore, all but flops down on top of Steve like a puppet whose strings were just cut. He rubs his forehead on the crook of Steve’s neck, catching his breath. Steve pets his hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply, like he’s counting all of his breaths.

Bucky can see how dark it now is. The party upstairs is still just as loud. The fireworks must be over by now. He feels almost like he’s Cinderella and this is the clock striking twelve. He shuffles around, slowly untangling himself from Steve and letting his soft cock pull out. Steve lifts the covers and finds his place again. Bucky settles in the pillows. Steve has got an impressive amount. It’s like laying down on clouds.

“I can go,” he says, then hesitates. He clears his throat, then continues, “if you want. I should, probably.”

Steve finds his hand under the covers and squeezes gently. “No, stay,” he says quietly, “it’s my birthday. You owe me breakfast, at the very least.”

Bucky smiles. He can’t really argue with that.

“It’s just…What have you told Sam? I don’t want to make anything weird.”

“Don’t worry about Sam. Just stay here, with me.”

Steve rolls over so he’s laying on his side. Bucky mirrors him, taking in his bright blue eyes, even in the darkness of the room. He strokes the side of his face, his fingers burying in the thickness of his beard. Steve beams at him, open and hopeful.

“I’ll stay tonight,” Bucky says, quiet like a whisper, “but I’m still leaving tomorrow.”

Steve’s smile doesn’t dim. He rubs his thumb over Bucky’s pulse, holding Bucky’s wrist in his big hand ever so gently. He doesn’t move, Bucky keeps caressing his face.

“Yeah, Buck, I know.”

Bucky, for all he thought he had steeled himself over the time he had spent without Steve Rogers in his life, is still amazed how easily his heart still breaks for that man. He loves him, god help him, he loves him just the same.


	10. Road to Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re here,” Sam says in disbelief.
> 
> “Well spotted,” Bucky can’t help to reply, “want some bacon? It's turkey.”
> 
> Sam turns to Steve. “He’s here,” he repeats.
> 
> “Sure is,” Steve replies with a shrug. He’s grinning a bit, the bastard. Bucky can’t help to smile too. Steve press his lips to Bucky’s brow as he shuffles around the kitchen with his coffee cup. Sam looks about ready to pass out. “He made crepes too.”
> 
> “Crepes,” Sam echoes in subdued horror, “Barnes is here. Making crepes.”

Bucky wakes up to the familiar noise of a broken truck engine. He’s drenched in sweat, too, so that means he must have kicked Steve all the way to the other side of the bed where he’s still snoring, apparently blissfully unaware. He wonders, for a second, if Steve ever had some nightmares of his own that Bucky didn’t think of either. There are thousands of scars on their bodies that they hid from the other, ten for each that they told the other about. It’s an odd thing, knowing someone so deeply and them being a stranger at the same time.

Bucky finds his abandoned boxers by the bed and sneaks in the bathroom across the hallway. Sam isn’t in the living room which is probably a blessing. He takes a cold shower, trying to scrub away his grimy body. He hates that feeling, being covered in sweat, the fear sticking to his bones. He’s safe now, it’s been ten years, it could have been a thousand. Sometimes, it goes for months, then it comes back. He’s so helpless against his very own mind.

When he leaves the bathroom with just a towel on his hips, he’s glad that Sam still isn’t awake. He also realizes he has no idea what time it is and he most definitely can't use "fucking his ex-husband again" as an excuse for being late on a Monday. He gets back in Steve’s bedroom as quietly as he can manage. He opens a few drawers, guessing which one keeps the underwear, finds a pair and puts it on.

On the bed, Steve hasn’t shifted or opened his eyes, but Bucky can tell he’s awake just because the snoring stopped.

“Hey,” he says as he sits back down on the bed. He puts one of his Steve’s T-shirt on too. “I’m borrowing this.”

“When did you wake up?” Steve asks, his eyes still closed.

“Like, twenty minutes ago? I had a shower.”

“Yeah, I heard. Did you…”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Bucky cuts, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve swallows, his dry throat clicks. He opens his eyes slowly. He extends his open palm toward Bucky. Bucky drops his hand in his. Steve squeezes lightly. “Ok, Buck.”

“I promised you pancakes, not shellshock.”

Steve finally smiles. “Pretty sure they don’t call it that anymore. And you know I don’t mind. If you want to talk about it…”

“I never did,” Bucky interrupts again, “and I still don’t. Shut up and let me make you pancakes. You know what? I can make you some crepes, actually. I’m very good at making fancy pancakes, these days.”

Bucky shuffles closer to Steve’s body, throwing an arm on his other side to lean down and press a kiss on his forehead. Steve closes his eyes again.

“Crepes?” He says hazily.

“Yeah. Post-birthday breakfast. What time is it anyway? I’m sure I have time, I’m due in at 9.”

Steve strokes Bucky’s ribs with one hand. He doesn’t look at him.

“If we take the bike, we’ll be fine.”

Bucky almost jumps at the word. He hasn’t seen The Bike in over a year. He hasn’t seen Steve on The Bike in even longer. He is not ready to be reacquainted with The Bike, especially not with this new bearded Steve that wears adult clothes.

“You are not driving me to work, Steve, I swear to god. Especially not on the bike.”

“What’s wrong with the bike?” Steve asks, all curious like he has no idea. “It’s a big tower. Doubt anyone will recognize you. Let me drive you. Let that be my post birthday present.”

“No! I got you a real present,” Bucky protests, a little stronger.

Steve moves quicker than Bucky expected. He manages to pin Bucky down with his arms above his head, which really isn’t that hard now that he somehow got even bigger. He always had tree trunks instead of arms, but now, Christ almighty, Steve is lucky Bucky can keep it in his pants for hours at a time. Even more reasons not to be seated on a vibrating machine with his dick pressed up against Steve's ass.

“You keep saying that and yet...”

“Maybe you haven’t behaved well enough. Have you thought about that?”

“I hear about pancakes, I hear about presents, but I see nothing. Are you all talk, sergeant?”

Bucky smiles, throwing his head back on the pillows, exposing his throat. Steve can’t help but lay some kisses there, as gentle as ever.

“I’m starting to think you’re not particularly interested in either of those. Next year, I’ll just gift you my dick and be done with it.”

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, a bright smile illuminating his face. “Already thinking about next year, huh?”

And just like that, the casualness, the ease of the moment is gone. Bucky remembers that they're broken up, that no one knows about this. That he also doesn’t know what to make of this.

He shrugs Steve off and sits up. Steve must feel it too because he says nothing. Bucky recovers his jeans and shoves them on. “Let’s see about those crepes, first,” Bucky declares to fill the awkward silence.

*****

Bucky manages to not fuck up the crepes batter and whip up some decent thin pancakes. Steve occupies himself with not burning the turkey bacon, which a real achievement of its own. The sun comes up slowly. Bucky almost doesn’t want this morning to end, doesn’t want to think about the day of work ahead of him and how this little bubble he’s created with Steve will end and they will still be divorced. Bucky will have to leave again.

If Steve is just as affected by this, he doesn’t say. He pushes a mug of hot coffee in front of Bucky and sits down at the table like this is a regular morning for them. This is the first entire night they spent together since Bucky’s birthday party. This is the first morning they had together in years.

“Can I have my present now? I made you coffee and everything. I’m kinda working hard on this, Buck.”

Bucky chews on his turkey bacon thoughtfully. “Yeah, guess you are.” He gets up and goes back into the bedroom to find his jacket and pull out the envelope he tucked in carefully. He drops it in front of Steve who raises an eyebrow.

“It’s no Cartier,” Bucky warns, “but I thought you’d like this better.”

Steve doesn’t add anything and rips it open. He finds the season ticket inside and the smile he gives Bucky could be worth a hundred million dollars and more.

“It’s for next year,” Bucky says immediately, “I’m not an idiot, I know the season is halfway through. But those are pretty good seats. Now that you’re retired, you can actually enjoy going to the game once in a while.”

“This is…Thank you, Buck. I really appreciate it.”

Steve stands up and wraps Bucky into a tight hug. Bucky kisses his neck, patting his back. Steve pulls away, just an inch to caress Bucky’s cheek. He kisses him, just a soft press of their mouth together, but it’s so gentle, so careful, that everything inside Bucky’s belly flutters.

“You’re welcome. I mean, it’s for two, so you’re going to have to get Sam to care about baseball, too, so it’s just as much a present for you than it is a present for me.”

Steve chuckles but doesn’t let go. His hands migrate to find a hold on Bucky’s hips. He bends his head to rest on the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky doesn’t move either. He’s so warm there, his whole body fitted perfectly against Steve’s.

“I haven’t been to a game in years. I forgot how much I liked going. Would you…We could go together, one day, right?”

“Sure, Steve,” Bucky says softly, “coffee’s getting cold though. And we both have jobs to get to.”

Steve nods against Bucky’s skin. It takes a lot of restraint not to take Steve back to bed. Bucky steps away and sits back down. It’s good timing, really, because there’s a click of a door opening and there is Sam staring at the both of them, in pajamas, in the middle of the corridor. Steve stands up immediately, going back into the kitchen.

“You’re here,” Sam says in disbelief.

“Well spotted,” Bucky can’t help to reply, “want some bacon? It's turkey.”

Sam turns to Steve. “He’s here,” he repeats.

“Sure is,” Steve replies with a shrug. He’s grinning a bit, the bastard. Bucky can’t help to smile too. Steve press his lips to Bucky’s brow as he shuffles around the room with his coffee cup. Sam looks about ready to pass out. “He made crepes too.”

“Crepes,” Sam echoes in subdued horror, “Barnes is here. Making crepes.”

Steve hums. Sam follows him into the kitchen. Bucky tries his best to overhear but their conversation are muffled by the coffee machine starting again. Sam returns with a plate full of bread that he sets down by Bucky.

“Jesus Christ, did you toast this?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

“Steve did,” Sam corrects with a shrug.

“You eat this?” he says to Sam. He turns towards where Steve is standing by the end of the table. “This is barely warm bread, baby,” Bucky goes on, lifting up the floppy piece of bread in his plate towards Steve for inspection.

“Baby,” Sam repeats, stiff as a board in his chair.

“Sam,” Steve says warningly.

“Oh, no, sure this is fine. Please include me in this train wreck that’s currently on fire. I had no other plans today.”

“I’m definitely sure I’ve heard you say you have a job,” Steve tells him.

Sam glares at him. Bucky has seen this look on Natasha’s face a lot. He only then remembers that he disappeared from the party to fuck Steve in secret and that Natasha and his sister were still there. 

“Oh shit, Nat! And Beth!” he exclaims, letting the bread on the side.

“Yeah, you’re right, oh shit,” Sam grumbles, taking a couple of crepes into his plate with a fork, “I knew it was you in there. Nat didn’t believe me. She said you were moving on. She said you were probably just watching the fireworks and going home like a moody little puppy. She owes me twenty bucks,” Sam finishes smugly.

Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “Could you…Would you…Just not tell her?”

Sam blinks at him a couple of times. Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on the back of his head. He’s not proud of himself but if he can delay having to face Natasha’s judgement and disappointment a little bit longer, he’ll take it.

“I haven’t said anything to her. I’d rather…I should be the one to tell her. And I will. So please. Would you?”

“And lose twenty bucks?” Sam says, irritated.

“I have to go,” is the answer Bucky gives him, finally looking down at his watch. “It’s past 7. I need to get my suit. I can’t be late for work.”

Before Steve can protest, Bucky kisses him on the mouth. He drains his cup of coffee and presses a kiss on Sam’s head, who groans loudly. He finds his shoes in Steve’s room and makes a beeline for the door. He calls out a last goodbye and all but runs home. If he can find something to distract himself with, he won’t have to think about the meaning of any of this and that’s what he calls peace these days, so he’ll take it.

*****

Bucky doesn’t start ignoring Steve because, to ignore someone, one must give the other something to ignore. Steve doesn’t text, neither does Bucky. Bucky does know that Steve is giving him some space. Steve has already told Bucky what he wanted. It’s been written all over his face since they met again in Stark Tower. But Steve has always been somewhat of a goddamn optimist and Bucky knows very well that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. Bucky will not commit insanity.

So, technically, he does ignore Steve. He definitely does avoid Natasha, which is something that fills him with guilt, but compared to facing her knowing about Bucky’s ugliest secret, it’s definitely not as bad.

Things aren’t great, is the reality.

The weekend after Steve’s birthday, Bucky goes on a lively trip to Whole Foods. As he browses the different shelves of pet food, he considers getting a dog. He had enjoyed looking after Lucky, when he lived with Natasha and Clint. Maybe that’s what he needs. A living being that relies on him and something that gives him a routine. It would most probably help with the loneliness and the going insane thing, too.

Bucky rolls his cart around the store aimlessly. Cooking had been fun when he was doing it with Natasha. Now that he’s always cooking for one, it’s getting boring. But then again, anytime he reaches for his takeaway menus he’s reminded of all the late nights he spent with Pietro and that’s a whole other thing he is not getting into.

He turns around an aisle and here, looking like the next Tom Ford commercial in GQ, in the middle of the vegan milks and yoghurts section, is Pietro Maximoff.

Bucky, who hasn’t washed his hair because it’s Sunday, who is also wearing a dirty t-shirt because he was only getting snacks, really wishes he had just gone to the bodega. He doesn’t move. Of all the Whole Foods in New York, did Pietro have to come to Bed-Stuy?

Bucky highly considers turning around and pretending he didn’t see him. Pietro isn’t alone, there’s a woman with him. Bucky recognizes her from the pictures Pietro used to sent him while he was on set. She’s definitely a model, all tall and slender and beautiful. Bucky can’t begin to compare to her. Good for Pietro, he forces himself to think. He tries to maneuver the cart around quietly but it’s too late. Pietro stops talking and catches Bucky’s eyes. Bucky swallows and gives him a weak wave. Pietro doesn’t look angry. He looks taken aback, that’s for sure, like he can’t believe this is happening. It is terrible luck, really.

He shouldn’t interrupt them. He turns the cart away and heads toward the granola section. Because this is a goddamn Whole Foods and not a bodega. Who goes to Whole Foods for snacks except those crazy hipster kind of Brooklyn people?

He exhales all the air in his lungs, staring at his stupidly healthy basket before he looks up and finds Pietro. Again. Alone, this time.

“Uh, hi,” he says. It’s odd, how he never once managed to be smooth in front of Pietro.

“Hey,” Pietro says.

Bucky hasn’t heard his voice in three months. He had forgotten how it made him feel. He attempts to smile.

“It’s good to see you,” Bucky goes on. His voice doesn’t shake, so at least that’s something. “You look good. Uh, I mean. I’m glad you and, um, was that…?”

Pietro smiles too and that warms Bucky’s chest. “Maddie? She’s just, you know,” he says with a little shrug, “I don’t know, actually.”

“I...I wanted to call, Pietro,” Bucky tries. He doesn’t know where he’s going with that.

“How’s Steve?” Pietro cuts anyway.

“Oh. We’re not…It’s not like that. We’re friends. It’s…It’s really fucking weird if I’m honest. But we’re good, so far.”

Pietro nods, looking down at his feet, his hands shoved in his jean’s pockets. He looks so young there, a little flushed, shy like he usually never is. Bucky wishes he weren’t the cause for this awkwardness.

“How about you? How are you?”

“Busy,” he replies, finally meeting Bucky’s eyes again. Those clear blue eyes. The way they darken with desire. Bucky never realized he missed him. What a man he had in his grasp and ruined everything with. “Between the salon and everything else. I’m sorry for not returning your calls. I just...” He shrugs, running a hand in his hair. “Didn’t know what to do, I guess. I kind of…I really blew up on you, huh?”

“I deserved that,” Bucky assures him.

“Still. We never owed each other anything. Maybe I…I think I lost my grip on what was happening, you know what I mean? I wasn’t great at…Well, anything. Communication, for one thing.”

“It’s ok, Pietro, really, I should be the one to apologize.”

Pietro shakes his head. How easy did it used to be, between them? They could talk all night, about nothing, there was never this strange stillness. Bucky wishes they could just go back to that. Pietro wasn’t just his sort of but not really boyfriend. He was a good friend, too.

They stand in silence for a second. Pietro looks at him again, his eyes crinkling as he gives Bucky a soft smile. He comes a little closer, just a couple of steps, and puts a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, stroking his thumb on Bucky’s throat. Bucky swallows.

“I’ll see you around, Bucky Barnes,” he says lightly.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky replies, trying his best to hide a shiver, “see you, Pietro Maximoff.”

“Doesn’t have the same ring now, does it?” Pietro says with a chuckle.

Bucky smiles. “Guess not.”

Pietro turns around and gives a mock salute to Bucky. Now, Bucky looks down at his assortment of fresh berries, overpriced organic honey and granola, alone, and really wonders when that did become his life.

*****

Some days, Bucky really can’t believe his nephew is already one year old. Or that his little sister, little Becs who couldn’t pronounce Bucky properly and used to call him Buggy, has a one-year old baby. Technically, yes, she’s thirty-three and has been married for over five years, but still. Crazy.

Becca always had life figured out. She was always so hard-working and dedicated. One of the big reasons Bucky joined up when he was eighteen was that his college tuition would be paid for and that his mother could concentrate on Becca instead. It wasn’t easy, becoming a widow with four kids, when they were already barely scraping by. Bucky wanted to help anyway he could. Becca had turned out amazing, Bucky had made it. The trade was worth it.

“How are you anyway?” Becca asks once they’ve put Scott to sleep. She sits down, folding her legs underneath her like she’s done since she was five years old, and looks at Bucky with a tender smile.

Bucky pats her hair. She doesn’t look that much like him. There is a resemblance, but Becca is so much livelier, so much more…motherly. Bucky doesn’t have that gentle aura about him, that softness in his eyes. Maybe they have the same chin and lips and eyes but apart from that, they couldn’t be any different.

“You’re cuddly today,” Becca goes on, scooting closer. She squeezes his waist and burrows in his arms. She smells like flowery lotion and sweet perfume. Bucky buries his nose in her hair and inhales. “Are you ok, Bucky? What’s up?”

Bucky has a deep sigh. “I’m sleeping with Steve.”

Becca blinks a few times. She moves back, looking around them, maybe for the cameras of the prank show she should be on. “You are…what? Steve? Your ex-husband Steve?”

Bucky sinks deeper into the cushions. “Yeah. Don’t tell Nat. She doesn’t know. She’d kill me. I fucked up with Pietro, I really did. And now…I’ve got no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

Becca relaxes. Her smile comes back, and she puts both her hands on his shoulders, pushing her fingers in gently. She’s not very strong. Bucky can barely feel it, but the touch is grounding. She’s such a mom. Always a solution for everything.

“Neither of you let go easy,” she says softly, “bound to happen. Do you still love him?”

Bucky turns away. He crosses his arms on his chest. What does it even matter how he feels about Steve? Seventeen years don’t go away like that.

“Bucky,” Becca insists, “you walked away, right? You divorced him. That’s not nothing. You married him and then you left him. I know you believed in your marriage. You wouldn’t have just walked if it wasn’t unbearable. You never talk about any of it. Before that, you never talked about the army either. Don’t you think it’s time you try?”

“Talk about what? My precious feelings?” Bucky scoffs, “please. I’m an adult, Becs. I can brood well enough.”

“You’ve never let me in,” she says, her voice stronger.

“What?”

“Me, or Alice and Beth, or mom. You always keep everyone at arms’ length. You’ve always done that. Even Steve. It’s like you had to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, all the time. Ever since dad died…”

“So what if I’m responsible and I’m not going around whining about every single misfortune…”

“Bucky! You went to war. That’s not a _misfortune_ ,” she says like the word actually offends her. She grabs his face and makes him meet her eyes. “Give yourself a break for god’s sake.” Bucky shakes her off stubbornly. She isn’t deterred. “You carried so much, for so long. You were our dad, our big brother, you were there for all us, all the time. Please, Bucky, let me in.”

“Becs,” Bucky says with a sigh. His hands are shaking. “I can’t…I’m not…”

She cups his jaw firmly, forcing Bucky to look right at her. “Let me in. I can take care of you, too.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It’s not your job, alright? I’m the one who…”

“Stop it.”

“I’m your…”

“I said stop it.”

Bucky swallows. He’s always been close to Becca, of course he has. They only have two years between them and they shared the same room until Bucky shipped out. But he always felt that sense of duty towards her. He wanted to be that strong, infallible big brother she could rely on forever. Not that fucked-up mess that can’t even bring himself to sit on her couch every weekend and spend some time with her kid.

He uncrosses his arms and cracks his fingers. He relaxes his posture. He can’t bring himself to look at her. Another thing he failed at, to add to the ever-growing list.

“Just because you’re human doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. You’re allowed to make mistakes. We’re all so proud of you. Do you know that? Do you realize that?”

Bucky has a sad mockery of a laugh. “Of course. I’m thirty-five, I’m a gay veteran with night terrors just recently divorced. I’m killing it. I’m lucky you don’t just hide my existence at family reunions.”

She swats his side with more force than he suspected she had. “How dare you! You are a decorated sergeant. You have a master’s degree from _motherfucking_ Columbia. You majored in Computer Science. You are leading a team for Tony _goddamn_ Stark. You are a caretaker. You have the gentlest soul. Listen to me.”

He groans, rolling his head to the side.

“If that’s one thing I’m sure of, is that you’ll come out of this swinging. You know why? Because you’re my big brother and I’m so proud of who you are. I’m so lucky you’re in my life.”

Bucky swallows back his tears because he’s not about to cry in front of Becca on top of everything. He takes a deep breath and glances at his little sister. So strong and fierce. A lion in disguise.

“Thank you, Becs. I love you. I don’t tell you that enough.”

She pushes a finger into his ribs, and he squirms further away. “Quit it!” he grumbles.

“It’s not that hard, is it? To be honest? How about you try that for once?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “What, with Steve? Is that your big solution? Be myself and everything will be fine?”

She quirks an eyebrow, daring him to argue what really is the sanest logic she could have come up with. Bucky shrugs.

“Sure. Whatever. We’ll cry it out and see what happens.”

“You can’t put it down until you’ve tried it,” she says with a smirk.

“Fine, I will. And, uh, don’t tell Nat, alright? I’ll take care of that.”

Becca nods and opens her arms for him again. He hugs her tightly. She feels almost fragile, there, in his embrace. Those hands that have pulled triggers on so many people. It’s a little surreal, even after all this time, to know that people still see good in him. Something worth looking at, protecting, even. Something to want, to keep. A guilt hangs on his body, to crave that feeling more than anything. To be a person, real and tangent, present in reality, when he feels so untethered. It’s the greatest gift to be seen in that way. Bucky will never be able to repay it.

“Then promise to call me more,” Becca says, her voice whiny like when she was a kid and wanted his attention.

“Whatever you want, Becs,” he promises.

*****

Bucky is the one to text first, because of course. He’s not going to be the only person in the world that can resist Steve Rogers. He decides to go for unaffected and casual, so that they can at least pretend that neither of them is desperate to see the other. He texts Steve at work. It’s been a couple of weeks since they last saw each other. That’s detached enough. That’s extremely relaxed.

Steve calls the minute he reads the text. It makes Bucky smile. He still waits for the third ring to pick up.

“Miss me, much?” Bucky teases.

“Left in kind of a hurry, Buck, figured I ought to repay you for the crepes.”

Bucky smiles to himself in his office. His secretary can’t see him from her desk and that’s probably for the best. If he can’t tell his own best friend about his weird, secret affair with his ex-husband, he’s not about to tell his employee.

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Beers,” Steve says immediately.

Bucky blows out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank god. You still haven’t learned to cook, right?”

“I’ve kept busy, surprisingly enough. So, do you want to go to a bar tonight? There’s a game on in that place where they make the ciders you like. Remember all that organic crap and the mismatched chairs? We could go there…”

“What? Like a date?” Bucky interrupts.

On the line, Steve chuckles. “Why? Thinking you might get lucky?”

“If I wanted to get lucky, I’d just go over to your place and save whatever I’d have spent going to a bar with you,” Bucky huffs.

“Get a guy a beer before you think about getting into his pants, Buck. Your ma teach you nothing about manners?”

Bucky almost wants to retort that his ma taught him plenty about sort of secretly seeing his ex-husband again, but he lets it go for now. “Alright, whatever you want, Rogers. Pick me up at 7, I’ll wear my best suit.”

“It’s just a bar, Buck. Wear jeans.”

“You’d like that.”

“Yeah, guess I would,” Steve says, and Bucky can picture his smug smile vividly. Steve can be such a dick. Bucky smiles too.

“See you then, babe.”

Shit. Too late. Steve definitely heard that.

“Yeah, Buck, see ya.”

Bucky hangs up in a hurry. He keeps his breathing under control. It’s not a date. They’re getting beers then fucking. He managed to do that with Pietro for months and almost succeeded in convincing himself it meant nothing. He most certainly can keep going on this cycle. No big deal. As long as he doesn’t think about how bad it could get, it surely will not get any worse.

*****

Bucky remembers the maybe two times him and Steve went to the bar in question. It’s a big place, in the middle of Bushwick. He went there with Natasha and Sam a lot more. They make great chicken wings, on top of the artisanal ciders. It’s also almost always packed. This Thursday night in the middle of July isn’t an exception.

They make their way to the bartender and Bucky likes the familiarity of this. For once, he’s reminded of happy times he had with Steve. Maybe it was few in between but it was what kept them going, wasn’t it? And now, he can still feel it. This warmth beneath his chest when he looks at Steve’s profile, as he orders drinks with a frown, because he hates this sort of place but knows how amazed Bucky always is at those quirky, pretentious inventions. Bucky can hear the words because Steve even says them.

“I’d really love…Just a beer? Do you have that?”

Bucky smiles brightly. This is the man he loves. This is the man he’d get to hell and back for. Probably already has. Bucky takes over the ordering, scanning the menu for something he knows Steve would at least consider drinking.

They stay by the bar, standing with their beers, watching the game on the big, flat screen hanging in front of them. It’s loud but they can still hear each other. It’s something to fill some of their silences. Bucky settles in, taking it all in. Steve’s shoulders relax inch after inch.

Bucky’s not the biggest football fan. Neither is Steve. It’s an excuse good as any so neither of them comments on it. Bucky scans the crowd. He absentmindedly registers every exit, catalogues the windows and openings. There’s a guy, right in a corner, hunched over his table, that’s so obviously military that Bucky can’t help staring for a second. The guy immediately looks up and raises an eyebrow in recognition. Bucky can’t place him but he's sure he's seen him before. It doesn’t seem to matter because the guy is already walking over.

Steve has noticed him too and his chest puffs up in anticipation. Bucky doesn’t what this guy wants but he mimics the gesture anyway, always trusting Steve’s reactions like his own.

“Hey!” the guy says, “Cap! I can’t believe it!”

Bucky keeps staring at him. He’s seen him somewhere. He knows this guy…He just can’t put his finger on it.

“Rumlow, hey,” Steve replies mildly, “I haven’t heard anyone call me cap in a while.”

Bucky turns his gaze to Steve. He can tell there’s some history between these two, something tense. He doesn’t ask. He looks back at the guy. He’s shorter than both him and Steve, pale skin and dark hair, something too smug and arrogant about him. Bucky chews on his lower lip for a second before he remembers. Oh. The guy from the bar, that one day in October when he went out with Natasha and Maria. How is it that of all people, he bumps into this guy when he’s having a good time with Steve? When it finally felt like they found something of a balance.

The guy, Rumlow, walks up to them and shakes Steve’s hand. Now, he stares back at Bucky. Bucky hopes that his shorter hair is cover enough. It was a while ago. Maybe he forgot.

“Oh, hey, you know each other?” Rumlow says, pointing to Bucky, “small world, am I right?”

Steve clears his throat, his face crumpling into a disapproving frown. “Yeah. That’s Bucky. My, uh.” Steve rubs his free hand on his face. “My best friend. Also, my ex.”

Rumlow’s eyebrows shoot up. Bucky can guess he remembers then, what Bucky had told him about being inexperienced in one night stands. He prays, for a second, to whatever gods will hear him, that Rumlow won’t say anything.

“Your husband?” Rumlow says in disbelief.

“Ex-husband,” Bucky corrects out of habit, “New York is only as big as we make it, I guess.”

Rumlow nods, grinning. Bucky looks away. Steve can’t help looking back and forth at both of them. Bucky wishes the guy would just leave.

“Heard about what happened with Fury, cap. A real shame.”

Steve’s posture changes. He straightens up, like his bones are now made of steel. Like that, he towers over Rumlow. “You know about what happened with Fury?”

“Everyone does. There’s still good work to be done, one way or another. Maybe if you asked nicely, he’d take you back.”

“Not interested,” Steve says immediately, not relaxing a muscle.

“You have yourselves a good night, gentlemen,” Rumlow says, retreating.

Steve and Bucky watch him leave, silently. Bucky has no idea about the dynamic between the two, but he can tell already that the guy is an asshole and if he’s still involved with SHIELD, Bucky guesses he won’t learn much more about it.

“How did you meet this guy?” Steve asks once Rumlow’s out of earshot.

Bucky shrugs, trying to look unaffected as possible. He takes another sip of his cider. “We, uh, had sex. One time. Obviously, I didn’t know you worked together.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “You fucked him? You fucked Rumlow?”

“I didn’t ask his name. It was one night, I met him at a bar,” Bucky mutters, “why do you even care?”

“Why do I care?” Steve says, blinking in anger, his voice rising. “Why do I care that this douchebag fucked my husband?”

Bucky inhales sharply. “I’m not your husband anymore, Steve.”

“So, who else have you been fucking in my contact list? You fucked Fury too? Coulson, maybe?”

This was just what he needed, really. Bucky turns around to face the bar again. He tries to finish as much as his drink as he can in one gulp.

“All the while you were seeing Pietro, is that right?”

“Don’t go there. Don’t you dare.”

Steve turns around and grabs on Bucky’s forearm so that he’ll face him. Bucky reluctantly twists his head to glare at him.

“When was it?” Steve pushes anyway.

“Let it go, Steve, I swear to god.”

“Or what? You’ll walk out again? How long will I wait this time until you’re begging for my dick?”

Bucky’s whole body burns with anger. “The fuck you just said?”

“Isn’t that right? Didn’t you say it yourself, that’s all we’re good for?”

“You want to do this? Right now?”

Steve shrugs, his broad shoulders strung up with tension. “Yeah, why the fuck not? It’s not like you ever want to talk to me.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him. Steve is really challenging him to a heart to heart. This is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Let’s go out of here,” he grits out, finishing his drink and dropping the money he owes on the bar.

Steve doesn’t budge an inch.

“You want to have this conversation in the middle of a bar? Let’s go back to your place.”

Steve gives him one nod before he drops some more bills down and starts walking out. They move quickly and in silence through the crowd. Because there is still some good in the world to pray to, they don’t bump into that Rumlow guy again.

They stand by the sidewalk while Bucky tries to hail a cab. Steve won’t stop glaring at Bucky like he’s the sole reason they’re in this mess and this is what makes Bucky’s blood boil the quickest.

“You want to know why I fucked that guy? You really want to know? Nat told me how you submitted your HR forms with Peggy and I was a goddamn wreck. I went out to a bar, something I couldn’t bring myself to do in the four months…you waited four months, Steve! That’s it! That’s all the dignity you gave me. Seventeen years of relationship. You sure got over it fast.”

“Don’t bring Peggy into this, it has nothing to do…”

A car halts by them. Steve stops talking to rattle off his address and they both get in, muscles tight with tension.

“Peggy had been in love with you…,” Bucky starts again, anger blurring out his vision.

“Peggy had nothing to do…” Steve interrupts immediately.

“Peggy had been in love with you,” Bucky repeats, louder, “since you met her in Afghanistan! You can say whatever the fuck you want about your little spy getaways, but she _loved_ you and you decided to ignore it. You let it go on. You said nothing. You want me to believe it didn’t matter because you loved me more? Is that it?”

“Bucky,” Steve says with a sigh, “what was I supposed to do? She knew I was married to you. Was I meant to never speak to her, work with her, because she had feelings for me?”

“First chance you got, you fucked her. Proves enough to me.”

“Fuck you. What about Pietro? Don’t tell me you never noticed how he looked at you. Never heard you push him away either. How long were you seeing him for, anyway? How long did you lead him on?”

“You’re the one that fucked it up for me with Pietro,” Bucky all but snarls.

Steve huffs. “Oh yeah? Pretty sure you were very capable of fucking it up on your own, Buck.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky barks, “you’re an asshole.”

“At least I know what I want. I’m not going to walk away when things get hard.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Bucky grits out through clenched teeth, “like you didn’t walk away from me.”

This gives Steve pause. He looks out, into the dark night that swings by them in the car window. Bucky knows he’s angry, they’re just about ready to rip each other to pieces, but he’s surprised Steve’s keeping so quiet.

“Is this about Afghanistan?” Steve asks, voice too low.

Bucky feels frozen in place. “What the fuck? No, of course it’s not about Afghanistan. No, Steve,” he says, his voice getting just as soft as Steve’s, “I would never…I wouldn’t…”

He wants to say, I wouldn’t throw my death in your face to win an argument. I would never torture with your worst fear, your thickest guilt. But then again, what isn’t about Afghanistan, between them? Isn’t that what started it all? What has poisoned their relationship? The war, Bucky’s death? How they danced around the subject without ever mentioning it?

“I should have looked for you,” Steve goes on, his voice almost a whisper, “I should have looked for a body to bring back. For your mother to bury. I sat shiva for you.” He bangs his head against the window. Bucky can’t tell if that’s intentional or not. “I’ve never told you that, did I? But I did. Instead of looking for you, I stayed at base and covered all the mirrors.”

“Steve,” Bucky tries, desperately, just to make him stop.

“Don’t say it wasn’t my fault,” Steve says a little stronger, “I was the CO on the op. I could have…I could have done something. I should have done something.”

Bucky’s throat is tight. He can barely get the words out when he speaks, each grating his tongue as they fall out. “It’s been over ten years. I’m here. You got me out and I’m here.”

From the corner of his eye, even in the engulfing darkness of the back of the cab, Bucky can see how tightly clenched Steve’s fists are. One by his thigh, the other by his mouth. In another life, Bucky would have offered his hand, would have relaxed each finger, one by one, until he could press their palms together. Touch for comfort had worked sometimes. In fleeting moments, they could put all the things they could never manage to discuss on the other’s skin, somehow writing out a delicate language with their fingers and mouths. Now, it feels like it wouldn’t translate right.

Now, Bucky thinks they would benefit from their own space. He sits upright again and calls the driver, asking to be let off. Steve barely reacts until the car stops. Bucky pays in cash and exits without another word.

“We’re not in Bushwick,” Steve says like Bucky has no idea.

“I know. Thought we could use the walk. You’re not cold, are you?”

Steve shakes his head. He’s never been so hesitant in the almost thirty years Bucky has known him. They walk side by side in silence. Steve’s place is probably still a mile out. Bucky glances at him. He’s staring ahead, his hands in his jacket pockets and he looks so much smaller than he is, hunched over like that, bundled up like he used to do when he was young.

Bucky walks a little closer. He’s the one to break the silence.

“Why’d you sit shiva for me?” he asks, trying for casual, “we weren’t married then. You’re not even Jewish.”

Steve’s jaw clenches then relaxes, only for a second. “I remembered…I remembered when your dad died. No one sat shiva, not even your mom. She couldn’t, right, because he wasn’t Jewish, and he was buried as a Catholic. But I overheard her talking to my mom, about how she wished she could have, in a way, because it had always helped her with the grieving.”

Bucky nods along, even though Steve isn’t looking at him. He was barely fifteen when his dad died. He remembered going to the funeral and meeting the priest, hearing the prayers and dropping the dirt on the casket. That felt like that had happened a lifetime ago, to someone else.

“When I watched you fall, Buck, it was like half of me died too. Everything good, everything I ever liked about myself, it was gone with you, too. I never told you that either…”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts gently, “I knew, of course I knew.”

“I should have said anyway,” Steve goes on, shrugging, “because you should have heard me say the words. The day we found you…When I held you in my arms again, when you looked at me and you didn’t recognize me…It was both the best and the worst day of my life. I…When I thought you were dead, when I thought I had to go home and tell your mom I had lost you…I couldn’t imagine also telling her I didn’t do everything right. I had no body to bury but…I had to sit shiva, right? Make sure someone did.”

“Thank you,” Bucky hears himself say but doesn’t know when his mouth opened to talk, “must have been hard to explain on base why you had to sit shiva for your best friend.”

Steve has a wretched sort of smile, something that looks sad and amused at the same time. “There weren’t that many Jews on base, but believe it or not, there was this corporal that was, I think I asked him about it and he guessed that we were a lot more than friends. But he went ahead, and he told everyone that was what you were supposed to do, as a non-Jew. Sit shiva for your best platonic pals.”

“Did it help, in the end?” Bucky asks. Not once, have they ever talked about Steve’s grief. Bucky never let him, always avoided the conversation, avoided Steve, avoided any memory touching that time in his life. Now, it’s like he can’t stop talking about it.

“Not really, no,” Steve admits, “but it felt right. Felt like at least, maybe I had failed you in life, but I could help…,” his voice cracks and Bucky doesn’t look up to check if he’s crying or not, “if I could help you in death, then I would do my best.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky says, to say anything at all.

They both stop walking. It’s like the weight of this conversation sits on their shoulders now and they can’t take another step. They don’t look at each other, not yet, because that would require a lot more strength.

“For what?”

“I died on you. I know I came back, but…Nothing was ever the same right? I came back and I was a ghost, and it took me divorcing you to realize that. That’s twelve years you spent with whatever I had left…Can’t have been what you wanted.”

Steve finds Bucky’s hand in his jean pocket and pulls it out gently. He spins him around to face him. Bucky’s heart is stammering in his chest. He can’t even look at Steve. It doesn’t deter Steve. He tilts Bucky’s jaw to the side and presses their lips together, the softest, fleeting touch. It only lasts a second and a half and then they’re still standing there, too close but apart.

“Let’s go back, Buck. I don’t want to…This is just so hard. Let’s go home.”

They don’t share a home, not anymore, but Bucky isn’t going to be the one to point it out. They’ve long since sobered up, they both know it. It doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway.

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

*****

They get in the apartment quietly because Sam is there. Bucky thinks for a second that they should have gone back to his place but once Steve puts his hands on him, he realizes that he couldn’t have bear the extra fifteen-minute walk.

He lets Steve take his time, taking off their clothes one layer at a time, real slow and sensuous. Bucky lets himself be shaped into whatever Steve desires. It’s a privilege in and of itself. Something that Bucky hadn’t allowed himself to enjoy fully before. Steve is human and Steve has his failures, but he always had this gift of touch. Bucky used to be so proud that there was no one else in the world that knew about it except for him. He tries to reciprocate it, to give himself over as much as he can, but he’s not sure it’s the same. If this has the same value to Steve.

They’re still standing. The blinds aren’t down. The moon and a couple of streetlights illuminates Steve’s hair in the darkness. That’s a sight that ought to be remembered. Bucky pauses, tracing the lines of Steve’s lips.

“I’m sorry about Peggy,” Steve says as soon as Bucky’s mouth is off his.

“Steve."

“Let me say it. I was such a mess when you left, Buck. I used her to get back at you because I was so angry and she didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t want to hear about Peggy anymore.”

“You have to know that it’s always been you. Even then, you were all I could think about,” he says, so softly, right by Bucky’s neck, “still is now, too.”

The words electrify Bucky from head to toe. Steve surges back up and kisses him again. It shouldn’t surprise Bucky like that. It shouldn’t feel this fulfilling to be held in that way, taken openly by someone that isn’t ashamed of him, that looks at him and desires him. But still, right there, he comes alive again. Bucky Barnes, modern Galatea. That always has been his curse.

But if he is truly damned, if this is his punishment, he’ll walk to Hell on his knees and demand more. He closes his eyes and lets himself be taken.

*****

Bucky almost falls asleep. Almost.

“Don’t come back,” Steve says to the ceiling.

Bucky opens his eyes reluctantly. “What?”

“If it’s going to be like this, I’d rather we go back to not talking. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. Pretend I don’t care, pretend we’re just fucking, and it means nothing. I’m sick of it.”

Bucky wants to have a smart remark, to push him, to rile him up, just so they can turn their anger into sex again and keep avoiding this conversation. He can’t even find words. Steve’s right. It hurts more to do this than nothing at all.

“So, if you want us to be together again, I’m all yours, Bucky. I mean it.”

Bucky stays very still.

“But if you don’t, then don’t do this to me. Don’t come back.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “Jesus, Rogers. Not even a ‘we should stay friends’?”

“Don’t deflect more.”

“Deflect,” Bucky huffs, “big word. Your therapist teach you that?”

Steve sighs, sitting up properly against the headboard. “Why won’t you tell me what is that you want? Why? Because you’re afraid I’ll give it to you? You’re afraid we could fix our problems and be better? Be together again?”

That’s enough for Bucky to get a move on. He throws the covers off and stands up, naked and frantic, looking for all his discarded clothes. This has happened so many times by now, it feels like a choreographed dance. Steve pushes and Bucky runs away.

But Steve is obviously tired of this stupid routine. He flings the sheets away and is on Bucky’s side of the bed in an instant. Bucky faces him head on. His lip doesn’t shake. He’s stronger than he ever thought he would be.

“There is no going back to what we were, Steve. I got the papers, and we went to the judge…Stop thinking like that.”

“What is it that you want?” Steve grits out angrily, “because you can say whatever you feel like but you keep coming back here. I’m not chasing you. Whenever I show just an ounce of interest, you start to look for the exit. You can’t tell me this is one sided because that’s bullshit. So just tell me.”

Bucky avoids his eyes. Truth is, he doesn’t have an answer to that. Other than he’s afraid. He’s goddamn terrified and he can’t put that into words. Steve has got too much power in his hands. He can ruin his life, all over again and Bucky doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to walk away twice. What does he do with that knowledge? That awful admission of his own cowardice?

“Do you really think there’s something that could make me not want you? That would make me stop loving you?” Steve says, his voice too soft, his tone too gentle, like he can read Bucky’s mind. Like he knows his soul better than Bucky does. That, more than anything, that absurd resolve, is what Bucky despises the most. To Steve, no obstacle is ever high enough. Nothing can stop at his unfathomable dedication. Bucky doesn’t have that faith.

He shakes his head. He shuts his eyes, hoping that’ll keep his tears away.

“Of course there is! You don’t know the half of it. What they did to me, when they had me…I’m fucked up, Steve, still to this day. Probably always will be. Why the hell would you want me when you can have anyone else?”

“Do you remember? Do you know what happened when you were captured? Now?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed in concern, stepping closer. Because of course that’s what he would focus on. Fucking dog with a bone.

Bucky rubs his temples tiredly. He’s never been more ready for a conversation to be over. He finds his underwear and jeans in the dark. Steve doesn’t stop him.

“No, I don’t remember, Steve,” he spits out, “I don’t remember, and I don’t want to remember. This is…I’m already like this, alright? I can barely function as it is. What they did to me, I want to never look at it again. I got out. That’s what matters. They didn’t win. You understand?”

Bucky rummages for his socks. He can do without, but he really doesn’t want to walk ten blocks in his sneakers without them. It helps, to occupy his hands with something. He aches to light up a cigarette. That used to help, too.

“Why do you think I quit SHIELD?” Steve says suddenly, “do you think I just woke up one day and decided I was done? After everything? After you left me?”

“I don’t know, Steve. Why?”

“I gave ten years of my life to that organization. That was my career, Bucky. I believed in it.”

There they go again.

“Steve, I don’t need a lecture, ok, I…”

“They had Zemo,” Steve cuts harshly, “he was in custody. I was so close…”

Bucky freezes. He feels every single one of his limbs clench up. He’s paralyzed in his spot. Something cold runs down his back. This name, he hasn’t even pronounced in years. This is the man he’s tried his hardest to forget.

“You…What do you mean…He…No, there’s no way…”

“We were tracking him for ten years. All they had on him was a narcotics charge, so they made a deal. They wanted to trade. Do you think I could have stayed, while SHIELD basically became HYDRA?”

“This whole time,” Bucky rasps out. His throat is too dry. He can’t remember how to craft sentences. “This whole time,” he repeats, his voice even quieter, “you and Peggy…That’s what you were doing? You were chasing the guy who did…Who…And you didn’t even tell me?”

Steve stops, his mouth half open. He exhales, too slowly. Bucky knows him too well. He knows what’s about to come out. “If you say it was classified, so help me god…”

“I wanted to protect you…”

Bucky has known rage. He has known betrayal. Nothing compares to what is roaring inside of him in that moment, too bright. Deafening.

“You wanted to protect me,” Bucky says carefully, enunciating every word, “from what, exactly? He…I didn’t remember you, Steve. You found me and I didn’t remember you. How fucked up was that? You didn’t think I would have wanted…I would have…”

It takes Bucky a second to realize he can’t talk because he’s sobbing. It wracks through his body. He’s crying in silence, like he did, probably countless time, that year he was in custody and KIA at the same time. Schrodinger’s POW. He wipes at his eyes furiously.

“If I had been given the choice,” Bucky chokes out, “don’t you think I’d have wanted you by my side, rather than avenging…Avenging what exactly? I didn’t die! I’m right here!”

“You wouldn’t even look at me, Bucky, for days and days! What was I meant to do? Reach inside your brain, dig around and figure out how to make you better?”

Bucky recognizes that walking ten blocks sockless is a lot better than continuing this conversation. He finds his converse abandoned on the other side of the bedroom.

“You didn’t even try,” he mutters.

“You shut me out!” Steve yells. Steve usually never raises his voice. Bucky wonders if he finally found Steve’s breaking point. “Do you think it was easy for me, to watch you wither like that? All the while I couldn’t even catch the guy who did this to you…He kept slipping away from me. Over and over again. And then, you were gone. It was all for nothing. I’m never going to get that back. I was proud of my career.”

Bucky straightens up. He rubs back of his hands on his cheeks. He tries his best to hide how pathetic he must look and stares at Steve. “Sorry to have been such an inconvenience in your life.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” Steve snaps, his voice breaking. He shakes his head. “You don’t want to fix this, do you? You just want me to wallow. I hurt you, Bucky, I know I did but so did you. Neither of us are blameless. So, you decide. Do we move on or do we keep on playing this game till we can’t take it anymore? Because I can’t do it.”

Steve, in front of Bucky, is a mountain of certainty. It’s odd to think, with someone this set on promise and on infallibility, that it was Bucky who had proposed. It was him who had walked away too. Bucky, perversely, wants to take apart his righteousness. Watch it collapse, bit by bit. Because Steve is only human too. Steve puts up a front as much as Bucky does. Steve isn’t a better man, he’s just better at pretending. His anger always boils, right under the surface. To get burned, Bucky only has to know where to push.

“Did anything happen in Afghanistan, between you and Peggy?” Bucky asks, his tongue thick in his mouth. The weight on the sentence hangs in the air for a second.

“What?!” Steve barks. “What the fuck, Bucky! You _died_ , while you were _within my reach_ , do you understand that?”

“I didn’t die. I’m right here. You can’t tell me you magically woke up divorced and in love with Peggy fucking Carter…”

“That is…,” Steve cuts him, “is that how little you think of me? What did you think happen? I watched you die and then I ran back to camp to get together with Peggy? I…I couldn’t even eat. I didn’t sleep. I don’t know how I even kept on existing that year and you think…You really think I could have even thought about her in that way? Fuck you, Bucky…”

“Didn’t take you that long the second time around…”

“Fuck you!”

“What am I meant to believe?” Bucky continues unaffected.

“You’re the one who broke up with me…”

“That is just so easy, isn’t it…”

“You blocked me everywhere! You wanted me out of your life.”

“You didn’t fight for me, Steve,” Bucky cuts him.

“Get out,” Steve says, his voice thick with rage, and whatever protests Bucky had on the tip of his tongue dies with it. Steve finds Bucky’s t-shirt, balls it up and throws it his way. “Before we say anything we can’t take back.”

Bucky sets his jaw. “Yeah, you’re right.”

He puts his shirt back on with as much dignity he can still muster and walks out. It’s for the best, he tries to convince himself. He leaves the apartment building and wishes the air would be colder. He wishes it would rain. Something to focus on instead of the stammering in his chest.

*****

Steve’s words bounce in Bucky’s head for weeks and weeks. They don’t see each other, and they don’t talk. Bucky is back on his regular schedule of hangouts with Natasha. He figures she knows but won’t push. The wound is still too fresh.

The more he thinks about it, the more he considers it. He knows that he’s fucked up, but so is Steve is in own way. They made it work more than once. Maybe they could try counselling. Take it one step at a time, see how it goes.

If he doesn’t do it right now, right then, he’ll never work up the nerve ever again. He shakes himself into motion. He puts on a thick coat and braves the cooling September air. It’s only ten blocks. He walks all the way to Steve’s apartment and presses the buzzer again and again.

There’s no response. If Steve happens to be out, this will make for the most anti-climatic evening of his life. It’s a Wednesday night, there’s no reason for Steve not to be home. So, Bucky waits.

A tinny voice finally answers, “hello?”

“Steve, it’s me, let me up,” Bucky says loudly, “I need to talk to you. Sorry, I didn’t call or anything…”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, Steve, let me up.”

“No, uh…I’ll come down. Wait a minute.”

Bucky shakes his hands in front of him before pushing them back in his pockets. He can’t stop fidgeting. He runs his fingers in his hair, trying to style it better. Why didn’t he look in the mirror before coming? Idiot.

Too late anyway. Here comes Steve. He hasn’t changed. Bucky hasn’t him for over a month. He smiles, holding back.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, “Buck, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted…I have to apologize to you, Steve, I was a dick. I can’t believe I said all of this to you…Can I just…Can I come in?” Bucky all but mumbles.

He moves forward but Steve pushes a hand on his chest. It’s a gentle gesture but it’s still firm. Bucky looks up at him.

“I’m not alone up there,” Steve says, and his voice is so broken, it’s pitiful.

“I don’t mind Sam being here. He’ll know at some point, right?”

“No, Buck,” Steve says, shaking his head, “Sam isn’t here. I can, uh, I can tell her to leave.”

“Her?” Bucky repeats. The pronoun sounds offensive on his tongue. “You got a woman in your apartment?”

Suddenly, every piece of the puzzle gets together. Bucky notices that Steve isn’t wearing a belt with his jeans. He’s barefoot with slippers on. His shirt is untucked, and the top two buttons are undone. He didn’t buzz Bucky in even though it’s late and the temperature is close to freezing. Steve is hooking up with someone. Someone that isn’t Bucky. Someone that didn’t keep on breaking his heart, over and over again, even though Steve offered himself, fully, every time.

Bucky wants to disappear. He can barely see in front of him. He did this. He caused this. Now, Steve will move on. Steve wanted to try again, he was going to make it work…And Bucky ran for the hills. Now, he’s too late. Too little, too late. Like always.

“Bucky,” Steve says.

His voice sounds so far away. Tears fall on Bucky’s cheeks, one after the other, so slowly that he almost thinks it’s raining all of a sudden. He wipes at his face quickly.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, a little stronger.

This time, he reaches out to him, pressing a thumb on the high of his cheekbone. It’s happening again. Bucky had thought he was finally safe from all this heartbreak, this misery he’d been wallowing in for the past few years.

“What did you want to talk about?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head. There’s no point in doing this now. He’s ruined it all over again. Now, there really isn’t any going back.

“I’m sorry I barged in on your date,” Bucky says but his voice is too soft. A sob waits to break out of his throat. “I…I have to go. We, uh, we can talk later. Enjoy your night, Steve.”

“Bucky, just wait.” Steve’s hand moves to his arm, but Bucky shrugs him off. “Hold on a second. This is…It doesn’t mean anything, alright? You know that, don’t you? I just…I wasn’t thinking.”

Bucky won’t risk arguing and make even more a fool of himself. He only nods, looking away. It doesn’t matter anymore. Bucky fucked up the best thing he ever had going for him. He had believed that Steve Rogers would always be his, no matter how bad things could get. What a terrible, terrible thing he had done, taking that man for granted. Dragging him through the mud, dirtying his soul with all this suffering and heartbreak. Bucky deserved no more mercy.

“If I had known you were coming here tonight…”

“Steve, it’s ok,” Bucky says. He clears his throat, shakes his body into obedience. “I’ll see you later.”

He turns around because he has to be the one who does. He can’t let this go on any longer. Steve deserves his freedom. It was hard earned. Bucky won’t be the one to deny him this. He hears Steve call after him but that woman in his apartment will hold him to the door of the building. Steve is too good to leave her there, alone, to chase after something so broken, it’s barely recognizable. What they had together, it’s long gone, and it took all this time for Bucky to truly know it.

That night, once Bucky gets home, he looks down at his wrist and takes off the bracelet.


	11. Man with a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gentlemen,” Dr. Kaplan cuts firmly, “let’s take a break here. Let’s back track a bit. This is obviously a very sensitive subject. James, would you rephrase this issue with I statements instead, please?”
> 
> “I think,” Bucky starts, crossing his arms over his chest, “that Steve is a goddamn selfish prick and that if he stopped whining for ten fucking seconds, I’d be a lot happier.”
> 
> “Fuck you,” Steve growls.
> 
> “Please use an I statement,” Bucky deadpans, turning to glare at him.
> 
> “I think you should go fuck yourself because you’re an asshole,” Steve mutters.

Bucky doesn’t really remember if he used to be proud. He was always a little vain, always putting more time into doing his hair and picking out his clothes than necessary when he was going to be seen by anyone, even if it was for grocery shopping. He was cocky, too, because he had realized early on that he could basically charm his way out of anything. But he doesn’t know about pride. About looking at himself and feel like he was doing good, like he was making the right choices. If he ever used to be satisfied with himself.

If he can’t even remember, he probably never did.

One thing, though, he’s always been good at pretending. With all his charisma, all his allure, he knows people look at him and think, this is a confident guy, this is someone who knows exactly who he is and what he wants. No goddamn way in hell this guy is such a wreck that he asked his ex-husband if the first thing he did after he believed Bucky died was fuck his second-in-command. Not even because he believed it could have happened, just to hurt, just to make him bleed and feel some relief.

It didn’t work. Of course, it didn’t work. Now, he feels nothing. Just a gaping hole in his chest at all times. It never ends, this heartbreak. It’s always there, brimming at the top, just one little shake and it splashes everywhere. Bucky cries so much now.

It didn’t used to be this bad, because before, when he lived with Natasha, he had her. She would pet his head, let him cry it out, reassure him. But now, he’s alone. He pushed her away. He fucked up his relationship with Steve to shreds. Obliterated the one he had with Pietro. He’s too damn ashamed to talk to his sister. Sisters. He’s alone, maybe for the first time in his life and he’s so terrified.

He doesn’t miss a day of work. He does reply to whoever texts him. He’s skilled in that way, in the balancing of responsibilities, always has been. But whenever he gets home, when he’s out of his stupidly pressed suit, he crawls to his couch in his pathetic soft, flannel pajamas and watches his wedding video over and over like the sad excuse of a man who walked away from the love of his life and bitterly regrets it that he is.

But maybe he doesn’t regret it as much as he thought, at first. Because, in the end, now he knows. He knows why Steve abandoned him. Why he spent countless nights walking around his apartment hoping, praying he was still alive and that he’d come back to him. It was because of Bucky. Because Bucky got himself captured, got his head fucked open and scrambled out and Steve knew no other solution but to try and make it right. But right to whom? The stars and the gods in the heavens? Certainly not to Bucky. In the end, that neo-Nazi fuck really had managed to ruin Bucky’s life.

Maybe it wasn’t all for nothing, this divorce. Because their little blow-out in the middle of the street and the screaming match in Steve’s apartment would have never happened if they were still married. They never got things out like that, before. If he’s really honest, Bucky knows that they didn’t have a conversation this real, this raw, since they came back from the war. Twelve years is a long fucking time to spend avoiding each other.

And fuck Steve for always shifting blame, like he’s so good-hearted, so level-headed that everything ever bad happened because Bucky chose it. Like Bucky just got out to spite him. Like their marriage meant nothing to him, like he had other solutions but to get a divorce, like he had never believed they’d be together for the rest of his life.

There’s nowhere to go from here now. Bucky is just stuck. Steve is moving on, apparently. Bucky found the wedding video on his cloud and he can’t stop watching it. That’s where he stands. A bright day in may in Brooklyn, him in his best suit, Steve beaming at him like he was about to cry from happiness any minute. And then their stupid vows. The way Steve choked up at Bucky’s. All this and for what? A week after, he was back out to chase some ghost that anyone else could have caught instead.

Peggy is there, in a red dress, standing by Steve, smiling like she means it. She must have been so glad to be in on their little secret. She probably must have been smug about it. Maybe on that day, Steve promised Bucky, but she would be the one to live that life. She had got him, for real too, in the end. It must have been so easy. Fucking Steve and his lines. Sure, it’s always been Bucky. Still is now too. Tell that to that fucking tart in your apartment then, Steve. Asshole.

Bucky twists around in the blankets he piled on his shoulders. He hates this part. He almost pauses when he hears something behind the door. Like someone pushing in a key. He freezes in his spot. The door opens and he almost rolls over to find the gun in his bedside table, just twenty feet away.

But behind the door, is a five-foot-two pissed off lawyer that is still wearing her suit and her soaked trench coat.

“Nat,” Bucky says, swallowing the rest of his words. He searches the couch for the remote to pause that fucking video and the stupid soundtrack about eternal love and whatever other bullshit.

This doesn’t deter Natasha who walks over after draping her coat on a kitchen chair. She puts her shoes away too, slowly and neatly. Bucky gives up on finding the remote. She circles around the back of the couch until she’s right behind Bucky.

“Wedding video, wow,” Natasha says with a whistle, “things are this dire, huh?”

Bucky chokes out a wet laugh. “It’s a good video. Paid good money for it. Remember that? How I kept watching reel after reel to find a good photographer? Because I wanted, what? I never watched that fucking video the whole time we were married.”

Natasha sits down next to him. She bends over his curled from and hugs him as best as she can from that angle. He pats her shoulder from his nest of blankets. God, he missed her.

“I’m sorry for not taking your calls.”

“I’m sorry for not coming sooner,” she replies.

“Shouldn’t be your problem,” he mutters.

“You’re not a problem. You’re my best friend. My shitty best friend but I’m ok with that. I’d still pick you a hundred time over.”

Bucky swallows. He doesn’t deserve her. He squeezes her frail shoulder. “I love you. I never tell you, but I do.”

She pinches his cheek. “Sap.”

“I’m literally crying, watching my wedding video. You don’t get any sappier than that.”

She keeps poking at his cheek, settling all of her weight on top of him. “I’d have said pathetic but whatever works for you.” He can’t see her face, but he can guess the wide smirk that has to be there. “Anything warrants this sad romcom behavior or you just wanted to hear my amazing speech again?”

Bucky almost considers lying but what’s the point these days. “I was sleeping with Steve.”

“Yeah,” she says mildly, “I had a clue about that.”

“I’m not anymore. I…This is all so fucked up, Nat. He said…” Bucky takes a break, holding onto the sobs in his throat. “He said he wanted to try again or whatever.” He swallows, shaking his head. “I just ran off. I left and I didn’t say anything for weeks and weeks. Never told you either. And then, I thought, fuck it, let me just go to his apartment, let’s work it out, you know?”

“Oh god,” Natasha says quietly, “he kicked you out?”

Bucky huffs out a breath that would be a laugh if it weren’t so wet and desperate. “No, worse. He was on a date. So fuck my life, I guess, right? No chance in hell anything is happening now.”

“So, you resorted to becoming a hermit and watching your wedding video until you die?”

“Pretty much,” he says, rubbing his cheek against a pillow, “any better ideas?”

Natasha straightens up and brings him with her until they’re both perfectly sitting upright. She hooks her arm by his neck until he rests his head on top of hers. Finally, the remote appears and Bucky pauses the video right as Natasha stands up to start her speech. She looked so beautiful, with the flowers in her hair and her dark blue dress. Bucky sighs.

“That day, did you think we’d make it? Or did you humor me into this disaster?”

“James,” she says sharply, like a warning.

“I proposed, you know? It was such a stupid idea. Steve was already away half the year. What did I expect? Did I really believe if I put a ring on it, he’d give up his super exciting spy job and play house with me? I’m just a fucking moron…”

Natasha starts massaging his scalp. He finally lets out the sobbing, the tears. He shakes and he holds on tight. The pain, that he had thought he had grown so used to, bursts out like an iced up river that's melting, slow and steady at first, but unstoppable and devastating the next minute. Natasha doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t let him fall. She gathers him in her arms, like he’s just silly child and she doesn’t let go.

“You loved him,” she says after a while. After things finally quiet down beneath his chest. “You loved him, and you wanted to believe you could just fix him. It’s ok, James. Even if you still love him, it’ll be ok.”

He doesn’t know about that. It’s been over a year now and it’s very far from ok. But what else is there to say? There’s nowhere to run now. No one else to avoid. It’s him and this and he’ll deal with it, whether he wants to or not.

*****

The next day, Bucky is back at work, because you can’t really call in sick for heartbreak. He’d know. And it’s not like he could afford the day off if he were even actually sick. His new position is extremely demanding and the team he’s leading is ever expanding.

He’s already on his second cup of coffee when there’s a knock at his door. 

“James?” America calls.

Bucky looks up from the pile of papers in front of him, grunting an acknowledgement.

“Mr. Rogers here to see you,” she goes on.

“What?” he asks, a little too loud.

He shakes his head. It’s fine. America doesn’t know that Steve also happens to be his ex-husband. If he can manage to act casual enough, she’ll never have to know either.

“Sorry. I…Let him in. Don’t cancel my 12 o’clock. It’s nothing important.”

“Sure,” she says with a small smile before disappearing.

Bucky lets out a deep breath. He doesn’t know if today is a good day for figuring out how to interact with Steve but what choice does he have now? He grabs onto his cup of coffee and looks up as Steve pushes the door back open.

He’s in his work clothes, of course, as it is a work day but Bucky doesn’t miss the way the fabric of his shirt stretches across his chest. Can’t he afford a tailor these days? Why does he have to wear clothes this tight?

But this is Bucky’s work place so he can store these thoughts for later.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, almost softly, closing the door behind him and moving closer.

Bucky jumps to his feet for what, he’s not sure. He shrugs instead of a greeting. He sets his mug by the coffee machine and takes out another one to fill. He doesn’t even want to offer Steve some coffee like this is a fucked up little date. How did he even get in this time?

“What are you doing here, Steve?” he manages to grit out.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.” There’s a heavy pause. Bucky wonders if Steve thinks maybe he’d have forgotten or something. “I shouldn’t have…It was a stupid mistake and I wish it didn’t happen.”

“You’re allowed to have sex. Who am I, the hook-up police?” Bucky says, trying for a light tone, hoping the joke hits.

Given the look on Steve’s face, it probably didn’t.

“I meant it, what I said. That I wanted to try and be together again. After you left that night…I wanted to wait. I did wait. But I…”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts, as gently as he can manage, “you don’t owe me an apology. We don’t owe each other anything anymore.”

Steve swallows thickly. “But I want to. I want that with you.”

Bucky paces around the office, anything to occupy himself with. He fiddles around the coffee machine again, not really sure what he wants. It must look stupid to have two cups of coffee, but he still doesn’t offer it to Steve. He settles on the creamer and pours it into his own cup until it’s too full. He takes a little sip, just barely touches the mug to his lips. He can feel Steve’s eyes boring into his face.

“I also want to ask you something,” Steve says, too serious.

Bucky cranes his neck to meet his eyes. Steve looks the way he did when he was Captain Rogers, authoritative and infallible, too sure of himself despite his young age. Steve had always been too confident in his stupid plans. Too stubborn and single-minded for his own sake. Bucky sighs.

“Don’t shoot it down straight away, ok? Just consider it.”

Bucky corks an eyebrow. “Spit it out, Steve.”

“Come to therapy with me.”

Bucky is overwhelmingly happy to not have taken another sip of his coffee because he would have sputtered it everywhere. He sits back down on his chair, feeling terribly incredulous.

“Come the fuck again?”

“I said to consider it.”

“I am considering I didn’t hear you properly. We’re not a couple. I’m not doing couple counseling with you, divorced. We never even did it when we were married.”

Steve shrugs, like that’s just a slight inconvenience. “Yeah and look where that took us. I never did therapy when we were married either. It doesn’t change the fact that I needed it and so do you probably.”

Bucky shakes his head. He drinks his coffee slowly.

“We don’t know how to talk to each other. I wish we’d learn. We could if you’d try.”

“So, it’s all on me, as always,” Bucky mutters.

Steve’s jaw clenches and Bucky knows he’s touched a nerve. He can push, if he wants, and watch his rage uncurl, spill into the room until there’s nothing else but unrepentant anger. He could do that, so easily. It’d prove Steve right, though, because that’s the one thing Bucky is a master at. The rest, the comfort, the exposition of his own mangled soul, he’s a complete stranger to.

“Sorry,” he says instead, “I didn’t mean that. But it is true that we’re not together. We shouldn’t do couple counseling. What do you want from this?”

Steve bows his body forward, rolling his shoulders inward, in defeat. He looks so goddamn sad that it breaks Bucky’s heart all over again.

“You,” he says, too quiet.

Bucky wants to say that’s not much to want. That he’s barely holding on as it is. That Steve should cut his losses, again, and run for the hills. That he should be grateful that Bucky did him the favor of leaving first. But he doesn’t. He nods his head and says, “OK.”

*****

Was it a terrible idea to agree to go to therapy? Of course, it was. Bucky knew this as soon as the words left Steve’s mouth. Was it an even worse idea to agree to go to Steve’s therapist? Yes, but Bucky hadn’t even guessed that. The worst thing about this whole ordeal that Bucky definitely should have planned for? Steve and his hopeful, devastating bright blue eyes. How much he wanted to make this work. How much he believed that it would help, in any kind of way. And Bucky truly, deeply resented that.

Dr. Kaplan, Steve’s therapist, is a tall woman, slender and professionally dressed in a pantsuit. Her hair is pulled up in a tight bun. Her black-framed glasses are perched low on her nose. Bucky doesn’t know if she makes him uncomfortable or if he’s just desperately awkward. She probably knows so much about him already. They should have gone to a neutral therapist, someone who hadn’t heard Steve bitch about his shitty ex-husband for almost a year. They shake hands and she studies Bucky’s face too intently, like she’s trying to piece together everything that Steve probably ever said about him.

They sit down on this narrow couch, about a foot apart and Bucky looks down at his feet. The room is too quiet. There’s no noise outside, the window is tightly shut. It feels unnatural for New York. Everything about this feels like it shouldn’t be happening. Bucky feels trapped, like he just walked into an ambush.

He doesn’t even hear what she asks him, first. Steve lays a flat hand on his arm and he jumps. He must look like he’s insane and he hasn’t even opened his mouth yet.

“A good way to start the conversation is to start using I statements. Instead of starting a sentence with you did this or you make me feel like this, it’s more efficient to say I feel or I think,” Dr. Kaplan explains calmly. Bucky already hates the sound of that. How superficial and shallow is this? How does this fix anything? “It helps with getting to the real problem and not settle into anger and resentment. Do you have any question?” They both shake their head, looking to the opposite of each other. “Steve, would you like to start?”

Steve cracks his neck. Bucky glances at him from the side. He can tell he’s nervous too. But, unlike Bucky, he really thinks this can work. It’s not the first time Bucky wishes he could muster the same amount of faith.

“I’m really glad you came, Buck,” he says, a little smile blooming on the side of his face. Bucky feels so drawn to him. He wishes they were alone so he could hug him, feel his radiating warmth. “I messed up and I’m sorry but I’m happy you’re doing this, with me.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that. I already told you that you don’t,” Bucky mumbles, shifting on his side, trying to get comfortable. Why is this couch so hard? He avoids Dr. Kaplan’s tracking eyes. “Did you, uh,” he finds that he doesn’t how to ask, what boundaries were being set here.

Steve rubs at his eyes. Finally, he feels it too. That awkwardness, that weird feeling of intrusion because they need to talk about their deepest secrets, their fucking divorce and wreck of a relationship in front of some stranger that hides being the title of “professional”. Bucky wants to get up and leave.

“Yeah, Buck, I told Dr. Kaplan already. It’s ok.”

Dr. Kaplan nods, a gentle bop of her head that doesn’t shake one strand off her bun. “It’s also perfectly fine if you’d like not to discuss any subject here, James.”

“I was just checking.” Bucky’s throat feels so dry. He feels so stupid.

“I want to tell you this,” Steve says, turning to look right at Bucky’s face. Bucky shifts again in his seat. “You have to know that after you left, that night when we went to the bar, I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything. But you didn’t call or text, I kept checking if you had just blocked me again and…It’s such a stupid story, but Sam had this friend and I’ve never done this in my whole life but I didn’t know what you wanted or what I was supposed to do. If I had any idea you were still thinking about this, that you still wanted me, I would have never, ever even thought about it…”

“Yeah, because as always, it’s my fucking fault,” Bucky grits out.

“When have I said that, when have I ever said that?”

Bucky exhales sharply. “Because god forbid you admit you ever did something wrong! God fucking forbid you take some blame in this mess and not just say I fucked it all up when I left.”

“But _you left_ …”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ…”

“I wanted to fix things…”

“How easy is it to say that when you’re never around!”

“ _You_ wouldn’t let me quit SHIELD…”

“Don’t you dare…”

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Kaplan cuts firmly, “let’s take a break here. Let’s back track a bit. This is obviously a very sensitive subject. James, would you rephrase this issue with I statements instead, please?”

“ _I_ think,” Bucky starts, crossing his arms over his chest, “that Steve is a goddamn selfish prick and that if he stopped whining for ten fucking seconds, _I_ ’d be a lot happier.”

“Fuck you,” Steve growls.

“Please use an I statement,” Bucky deadpans, turning to glare at him.

“ _I_ think you should go fuck yourself because you’re an asshole,” Steve mutters.

Dr. Kaplan’s mouth ticks upwards. She still shakes her head. “You both know that’s not how I statements work. Can we try again, one more time?”

Bucky turns his head, looking toward the window. All he can make out is another building. It seems empty. There’s nothing else to focus on that this room and Steve and Dr. Kaplan and the fucking I statements. He takes a deep breath, exhales and inhales again. Steve watches him intently. He hates this all with a passion he can’t name.

“I hate how you blame me for everything,” he says quietly.

“I don’t blame you…”

“Let him finish, Steve, please,” Dr. Kaplan demands so gently it almost doesn’t sound like an order.

“I know what I did, alright? I didn’t just wake up one day and walked into Nat’s office so she could write up the divorce papers. I thought about it for months and months…Months, may I remind you, that you were MIA with fucking Peggy, playing house and making out all over the place. Chasing fucking…,” he can’t bear to even say the name. He swallows, pressing his closed fist against his mouth. “You shut me out completely. What other choice did I have? Yeah, I left. Yeah, I broke your heart. But so did you. I’m sick of hearing how much you’re hurting and what you want and how fucked up I am. I’m just…I can’t take it anymore.”

It’s odd, that this is what finally shuts Steve up. No more protests, not more yelling. Dr. Kaplan waits. She looks at them both, her fingers entangled together on top of her notebook.

“If I hadn’t done it,” Bucky continues, “if I hadn’t, Steve, I would have drowned. I was drowning. You meant everything to me, I never lied about that. I pretended to be ok with so much, I just buried so much because I wanted you so bad. But I couldn’t keep doing it. I don’t think you even understand that.”

Steve stays silent, so does Dr. Kaplan. Bucky glances to one then the other. He doesn’t know how to announce that he’s finished. Should he say more? How long is he supposed to go on for?

Dr. Kaplan turns her eyes to Steve. “What do you think about that?”

Steve breathes in deep. He lays his head back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “I just love you so much, Buck. I was a shitty husband and a worse friend. I let you go and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”

Bucky swallows thickly. He all but cuddles up to the armrest on his side, as far as possible from Steve. He can’t say it back. If he says it, Steve will know for sure and then, he’ll never stop going after him. Bucky needs that doubt, that hesitation, just to be able to breathe, to know he still can walk away. He won’t give himself over again. He can’t.

It takes a couple more seconds for Steve to move, like the weight of his words pinned him down. He extends his hand, palm up, towards Bucky.

“Forgive me?” he asks, his voice soft like a whisper. Bucky wishes he were close enough, now, to feel his breath on his skin.

“You first,” Bucky replies.

He drops his hand in Steve’s and lets him intertwine their fingers together. He squeezes lightly.

*****

Once they leave the office, standing by the door, with another hour in front of them, Bucky finds that he has nothing to say. Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and is just as silent. Bucky doesn’t know what to think about this therapy business. He doesn’t feel like this helped. He feels even shittier if anything.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Bucky asks after a couple seconds of dead silence have passed, looking down at his shoes.

“What?”

“It’s the closest.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s elbow gently, forcing him to look right at him. “What do you mean, go back to your place? You want to fuck, right now?”

Bucky shrugs out of his loose grip. “Yeah, isn’t it the point?”

“The point of what?”

“Therapy!” Bucky says, too loud.

“The point of therapy is to fuck right after?”

“Listen, you wanted me to go to therapy, I went. Now, I don’t see why we shouldn’t go back and have sex.”

“Well, for one, it’s the middle of the day.”

“Never stopped you before,” Bucky mutters.

“And, I don’t think that’s really what we should be focusing on right now.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky groans, “she gave us homework. Now what, we gotta also discuss the implications of what fucking means to either of us for it to happen?”

Steve huffs, because of course he does. Therapy only works if you put in the work, he can almost hear him say. But Bucky is so tired. He could feel so good, so easily and that’s really all he cares about right now.

He steps up to Steve. He pulls down the zipper of his leather jacket, just a couple of inches and slides a hand inside. He splays his fingers wide and follows the curve of Steve’s chest. When his breath hitches, when he stops fidgeting and just stares back at Bucky, that’s the ticket. Bucky grins. He takes one more step, pushing himself right against him, their mouths so close, just an inch away. Steve looks down, only for a second and Bucky licks his lower lip, just on time. Steve tries to close his eyes, but it’s too late. Bucky knows he’s won already.

“Ok,” Steve breathes out, “but we’re talking about it.”

Bucky groans again. “Not in fucking therapy. You really want to get into how you love me on my knees and how good I can take your cock down my throat with a random woman?”

Steve finally smiles. He shakes his head softly. He makes no move to separate their bodies though. “We’re talking about how you use this as an avoidance strategy…”

“Oh, fuck off…”

“And how that makes me feel…”

“Sure sounds very awful to be this sexy, Rogers…,” Bucky tries to finish but Steve cuts him off by cupping his jaw and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. Bucky relaxes, sliding his hand up to rest against Steve’s neck, squeezing lightly. God, he missed this.

“I want this,” Steve says, grinning like an idiot, rubbing both his thumbs on Bucky’s cheeks. He’s too cute for his own good. Bucky smiles back. “But I also want the therapy. Give it a chance, alright? Just give me that.”

“I went, didn’t I?”

Steve claps his cheeks lightly before pushing away. “Yeah, I know. I’m grateful for it, I just don’t want you to quit just because…You know. This is happening or whatever.”

Bucky chuckles. “Are you blushing because we’re about to go hook up in the middle of the day, Rogers?”

“Shut up and call a cab, will ya?” Steve mumbles, looking at his shoes. Definitely blushing.

Bucky raises a hand to flag down a car, smiling smugly. He looks back at Steve. He’s pushing a long stray strand of hair behind his ear. His cheeks and nose are flushed by the cold wind. Bucky’s heart pinches. For this man, there’s very little he wouldn’t do, even discussing blowjob techniques with a therapist.

*****

Bucky takes another cab back to the office. He’s not particularly late. It’s not like he didn’t warn his secretary. There’s no reason for her to be standing in the way of his door, waving to him like he just won a Nobel.

“James,” America says hurriedly. She seems way too excited for a middle of the workday. “Mr. Stark is in your office!”

Bucky feels the breath leaves his lungs but not come back in. Fuck. The one day he decided to take an extra long lunch for therapy and oral sex, that’s the one day the CEO of his company decides to stop by. He turns towards his secretary, burning with guilt.

“How do I look? Be very honest.”

She almost smirks, but she’s good at her job so she schools her face into neutrality. She looks him up and down and shakes her head. “May I ask, sir, why is your hair so…?”

Of course, Jesus fuck. He should have gotten it cut. Steve and his weird habit of pulling and tugging at his hair every way possible. Bucky tries to run a hand through this nest of tangles. No point now. He checks that all his shirt buttons are in the right way, at least. Maybe he can just pass this off as some scientist neglected hairstyle or something. His suit isn’t wrinkled. No one knows where he just was. It’ll be just fine.

“Alright, whatever. Hold my calls, please.”

America throws up her thumbs and Bucky tries to smile back before he pushes the door of his office. Inside, as promised, right by the window, is Tony Stark.

Bucky clears his throat. “Hi, sir, I wasn’t expecting you. James Barnes, pleased to meet you.”

Bucky offers his hand, but he doesn’t turn around. He seems to be fixated on something outside but Bucky is too far to make out what.

“You know I used to work with your husband?” _Tony Stark_ says casually.

“What?”

“Sorry, should I say, ex-husband?”

“Steve?”

“Yes, that’s the name! It was on the tip of my tongue.”

“What, but, what? I mean, how?”

Stark shrugs. “I used to be an arms dealer for the US Army. Me and Fury go way back. Sorry to hear about the divorce, by the way.”

What a surreal interaction. Bucky nods anyway. “Uh, thanks. It’s been a while now, it’s fine. How can I…What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?”

“Please, if you let me call you Bucky, you can call me Tony.”

Bucky blinks. Stark finally turns and stares right at him. “How do you…”

“You prefer Bucky, right?”

Bucky doesn’t really want to expand on why he doesn’t ask his employees to call him by a childhood nickname and how horrified he is at the fact that the CEO of Stark Industries knows about that name. He nods.

“Great then, Bucky Barnes, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Sure, fire away,” Bucky says. He doesn’t know whether to stand or sit. He knows he probably shouldn’t cross his arms or put his hands in his pockets. He’s read so many books about body language or whatever. He can’t remember a thing now.

“You know my wife doesn’t give out a lot of compliments. She’s very precise in her work. But once I hired you, she couldn’t stop. And, to be honest, you deserve all the praise. You’re doing great job here.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he is allowed to smile or not. Maybe that’d be too soft. He opts for a firm but friendly nod. “Thank you, sir, but my team is…”

“Yeah, buddy, you can spare me all of the ‘I’d be nowhere without my people’. I’ll cut to the chase, we’re both busy. You’re a good leader and I want to make you the director of this branch. This new branch. R&D for Risk Assessment. So whaddya say?”

“What do I…Yes, Jesus Christ, I say yes.” He can’t help the very undignified nervous set of giggles that set him off. “Lead the R&D in…That’s amazing. Thank you. Wow. I…”

Stark, _Tony Stark_ , claps him on the shoulder. “Make me proud, Buckaroo, then we’ll talk more. Deal?”

“Deal. Yes, of course. Thank you, sir, I mean Tony. This is so great.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on and call your mama. The lawyers will send over the new contract. I’ll see you when I need you.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Bucky feels like a little kid. He calls America in and they jump up and down like they’re ten years old. Bucky pulls out his phone and immediately calls Steve, then Nat, then his ma. Bucky Barnes is now a director at SI. Once he gets a chance to settle down, sit at his desk, he wonders how the hell he got this lucky. He hasn’t felt this full, this happy, in years.

*****

It takes another two therapy sessions for Bucky to bring it up.

“I want to talk about Peggy,” he announces stubbornly, like he would to an audience.

By his side, Steve groans. Dr. Kaplan looks down at her notes and nods. She always fucking nods. Bucky is starting to thoroughly despise the way she bobs her head at everything. How does she pretend, every single day, that she gets it, when there’s no way she understands any of anyone's problems.

“Then I don’t see why we can’t talk about Pietro,” Steve says after a minute, also crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky glares at him. “I am definitely not talking about Pietro with you. There is nothing to talk about, especially not with you.”

“What’s the difference, then?”

“What’s the difference?” Bucky repeats, in disbelief, “are you kidding me? What’s the difference! You are such an asshole. I don’t even know why you make me do this when you just live on your fucking high horse…”

“Gentlemen, please,” Dr. Kaplan calls calmly. “James, maybe it would be useful to Steve if you can clarify your feelings on the situation with Agent Carter.”

“Agent Carter,” Bucky huffs. He settles deeper into the sofa cushions. “Is that what you told her about Peggy? This is why this is pointless. If you want to keep fucking lying about everything, even by omission, then you don’t need me here, do you?”

“James, let’s just go back a bit. Why do you feel such a hostility towards Peggy? It would probably be beneficial to you both to verbalize it.”

“Bucky thinks I cheated with her,” Steve declares flatly, like it doesn’t matter. Like Bucky is making a mountain of a molehill. But this is really the Everest right there and they can’t even talk about it.

“But you did!” Bucky exclaims. He should get a hold of himself. He’s too pissed off to care. “You were gone for months, Steve, months! Doing God only knows what, making out in public with Peggy, all the while she was just waiting for our marriage to finally be over…I mean, come on, she probably danced all the way back to her place when I served you the papers.”

Steve clenches his jaw and looks away. Bucky wants to shake on his shoulders.

“And then, and then,” Bucky says, still too riled up, staring right into Dr. Kaplan’s bobble head, “he fucking submits HR papers after four months, just four months…Who even does this? HR papers! Can you believe this shit? I couldn’t even leave the apartment. I spent all my nights bawling my eyes out, over this fucking asshole, who probably was _so glad_ to be free to fuck his mistress all he wanted!”

Steve doesn’t even react. Bucky is very close to walking out. The door is right there. He could do it, just a couple of steps, he would be gone. Therapy forgotten forever. Steve would be free to fuck off to England and find Peggy all over again.

“Did you even feel an ounce of guilt? Did you not think I’d know about it and how it’d destroy me to know that it was all real, all along?”

“Steve,” Dr. Kaplan calls gently, like he’s the one to be careful of. Him and his precious feelings. "What do you think about what James just said?”

Steve shrugs his broad shoulders. He stays hunched down like a scolded child. Bucky unfolds his arms and grips at the armrest of the sofa tightly. He brings his other hand to his mouth to bite down on his thumb. He’d scream if he didn’t. He wants to punch on something.

“You left me,” he says, almost a whisper, “you blocked me everywhere. I never thought you’d know.”

Bucky lets go of his thumb. “Isn’t that nice! My fucking fault again! I really did bring this all onto me, I guess. Must be all my shitty karma coming back to me.”

“Ok, let’s diffuse this,” Dr. Kaplan announces, “James, you are obviously very upset about the situation. You felt betrayed by Steve’s actions, which enacted your worst fears about your relationship. Steve, you believed you would never see James again and you felt hurt by his actions, thoroughly so. Would you say you were seeking comfort with Agent Carter? I think you should discuss this more.”

Steve swallows but nods too. Fucking nods.

“So sorry I hurt your feelings, babe,” Bucky snarls, “when I decided, after months of consideration, that maybe I deserved a partner that was actually in my life. Must have sucked. I also would have definitely run to the girl who had been in love with me for fifteen years!”

“She wasn’t in love with me,” Steve says with a low growl, “tell me then, what’s the difference with Pietro? Because you knew how I felt about him too.”

“Because I never looked at Pietro like you looked at Peggy! I never kissed him, I never spent days and nights locked up with him on secret missions I never told you about. I didn’t hide that he was my friend and I never once believed he was into me when we were married. But pretend all you like, you knew about Peggy. You let it go on. Look at me now and tell me she never told you how she felt, once you got together?”

“Gentlemen, we should tone it down, first of all, and let’s explore this, if that’s alright with you both?”

“Fine,” they say at the same time.

“Let’s see here. I think at the root of the problem here is that James didn’t feel confident in the relationship and that as it was breaking down, more of what he believed to be proof of his lack of trust came up. Afterwards, the fears were confirmed with the new relationship that Steve entered. This brought up a lot of resentment from you, James, is that right?”

“Yeah, resentment, whatever.”

“I don’t know how I could apologize any more. I don’t know what you want from me,” Steve grits out. His palms twitch at his sides. “I never believed that what was going on with Peggy was cheating. I would have never, ever cheated, Bucky, you know that.”

“Do I, though, do I? Because I’m very sure that the first year we were married, I saw you maybe, six weeks put together. Then, the second year, it was half. I don’t think I knew you anymore.”

“So, this is about SHIELD again?”

“No, stop it with SHIELD. I don’t care about SHIELD. You quit, good for you. You would have quit if I had asked, great.”

“Ok, ok, let’s take another break, please,” Dr. Kaplan interrupts in that strong but soft voice again. “Let’s stay on the issue of Peggy. Steve, I think it would be useful if you rephrased your apology to James again. This is an extremely sensitive subject for you both and you’d benefit from hearing from each other again. Just say your piece and James, please listen without interrupting until Steve is finished.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, feeling his chest expands before he releases it all. He braces himself on his side but turns to look at Steve. He swallows, crossing his arms then unfolding them. He swipes both hands on his thighs. Maybe they’re sweaty. Bucky wants to be as far from him as possible. He doesn’t really understand why but all he wants now is to be alone. He’s done with talking. He doesn’t even want to hear any of this rehashed bullshit.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says, glancing at him from the side, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I got so caught up in my job and I just…I wasn’t there for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to go back in time and fix it. I forgot your birthday, I forgot the trip, I forgot our anniversary…I’m just so fucking sorry all the time and it pisses me off how useless it all is.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky mumbles.

“What?”

“I want to go,” he says and he knows he’s too quiet.

Steve repeats. “What?”

“I’m gonna go. Now. I don’t want to do this.”

He feels like a puppet whose strings are being pulled upwards. He stands up in a hurry, grabs at his coat. The door that was just there is as easily reached as he imagined. He opens it, closes it carefully. He doesn’t wait to hear if Steve is apologizing, again, like it means anything, to Dr. Kaplan. If he’s going to stay or follow him.

Bucky walks out of the building. It only takes a couple of minutes for Steve to catch up. He's breathing heavier. He ran to him, like an idiot. This isn’t a romcom. He can’t chase him through the city and sit him down for fucking therapy.

“Bucky,” he says anyway, like it matters.

“I’m going home,” Bucky announces.

“Let’s just…Let me get you a coffee, anything. Let’s sit down, ok? Fifteen minutes, that’s all I ask.”

Bucky could protest that it’s never all he asks. He always wants more from him. Bucky is so drained. He feels so numb. He can’t even feel his fingers. He doesn’t know if he’s breathing all the way in or he’s having a panic attack. It’s so stupid. What else is there to do anyway, besides agreeing to whatever it is that Steve decided is good for him? He nods. He follows.

*****

There’s some sort of crappy coffee place nearby where a latte costs eight dollars because it’s Fairtrade and has lavender extract in it or whatever bullshit flavor of the month it is. They sit down in this booth with cracked leather seats, even though Bucky is very sure the place is brand new. He usually loves these stupid hipster places. He lets Steve order for them. He doesn’t even listen to him.

Once the coffee is set in front of them, the silence weighs too heavy.

“Do you talk about me a lot, in therapy?” Bucky asks, muses really, because he’s not entirely expecting an answer.

“I talk about me, Buck. My feelings. It does include you, but it’s not the only thing we talk about. She doesn’t know that much about you, don’t worry.”

Bucky frowns. He hates how easy it is for Steve to read him, to know what’s eating at him.

“I need a break from this. I need a breather. The fucking...Counselling,” he says, swallowing around all the anxiety waiting to spill out of his throat, “I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it. We should…I want to see other people. I don’t want to fix this mess. At least, not now. Let me just…I don’t fucking know, Steve, I don’t know anything.”

Steve nods his head, looking down at his plate. “Ok,” he tells the table, “that’s fair. You need time, I can give you time.”

“No, I…,” Bucky starts but realizes he has no words.

Steve looks up at him. Patiently, always so goddamn patient, it makes Bucky’s skin crawl. Of all the things he came to resent Steve for, it was this look that made it to the top of the list. Looking at Bucky like he’s fragile, like he’s something to be careful of, because he’s all fucked up. Because he was taken, for a whole year, toyed with for he doesn’t what and his brain got torn to shit so badly that he didn’t even remember his own boyfriend. He wants to run out of here, like he always used to. But he stays put because he’s not that scared kid anymore. He’s a grown man and he can face Steve and his gentleness. His care and openness.

“I divorced you,” he starts again, “and it was for a reason. I don’t want to try and piece everything together, not with a fucking third party, not ever. What we had is long gone. We both know that. Just because…,” again, he chokes on his own tongue.

“Just because what?”

Just because when I turn around and can’t see you, I miss you. Just because when you smile, I feel warm all over. Just because when you hold me close, when you press your lips to my neck, when you whisper you love me, I feel whole in a way I never thought was possible. Just because I can’t imagine you not being into my life. Just because I let you go once, and I was selfish enough to want you another time.

“It doesn’t matter, alright? We’re done.”

“Done with the therapy?” Steve asks. Clarificatory, Bucky fills in his head in the therapist’s voice.

“Yeah. Done with…the getting back together, too. We don’t work, Steve. We did, we were so great, but I don’t know…I have no clue about what happened. I wish I did but we can’t go back.”

Steve shuts his eyes violently, like he’s trying his best to clamp down on his feelings. Bucky realizes a second too late that he probably doesn’t want to cry in public.

“So you’re breaking up with me again?”

Bucky wishes he had anything else to say. He barely gives a nod. “I can’t do it. I thought I could and that suddenly, I don’t know, all the pieces of the puzzle would fall into place and it would make sense. But it doesn’t. I hate therapy. I hate pretending that this is doing anything. I just…I can’t.”

Steve opens his eyes but looks towards the waitress. He waves gently at her and asks for the check. Bucky doesn’t move. He spreads out his fingers on the table then folds his hands into fists then relaxes again.

“I want to stay friends. Can we do that? I promise I won’t block your number.”

His tone isn’t light enough to make room for the joke, he can tell because Steve still won’t look at him

“Gee, thanks,” Steve mutters.

Bucky shakes his wrist to look at the time. Steve stares at him with wide eyes. Bucky stays still, too still. He clears his throat. “I took it off. The bracelet, I mean.”

“When?” Steve asks, all but demands.

“Why does it matter? Now, of all time.”

“I want to know,” he assures, his tone mild but Bucky can read the anger like it was written on his face.

“You haven’t worn yours since my birthday party. Why should I wear mine?”

Steve shakes his head. He has a small, tired laugh. “Yeah, guess you’re right. You’re always right like that.”

He slaps his credit card on the receipt holder. They wait for the waitress to pick it up then they wait for her to bring it back. They don’t say one other word. Steve is the first to get up.

“I broke my bracelet. I tried to open it and I busted the clasp, then I tried to put it back together and I ruined it more. I’ve been waiting to get it back for months now. Maybe I don’t need it anymore. I’ll see you around, Buck,” he says calmly and then he’s gone.

*****

Bucky believes that, maybe, it should have felt worse, watching Steve walk away. Maybe his heart is too weak to feel anything else. Too many things going on at the same time. He waits for a while, for the heartbreak to hit him all over but it doesn’t. Sometimes, he thinks he’s done it, he’s fully healed up and he can start the new page that was supposed to write itself for him, but he knows it’s not happening. Not yet at least. He’s got nothing but time.

Bucky does pretend that he’s over Steve a lot. At this point, it could be a hobby. He still does have random one-night stands but even if he exchanges numbers with a guy, he never replies to them. He doesn’t share that with Steve, of course, because they are friends now. Sort of. He also tries his best to hide that from Natasha, but one tilt of her eyebrow and he confesses everything. After the whole Pietro debacle, he knows he can’t try and date. So, he pretends.

It’s not as hard as it sounds. No one really presses. He’s quick to shrug off any concern. Bucky can almost definitely believe that he’s made the right choice. He doesn’t miss therapy, that’s for sure. Natasha has a different opinion about that, but she’s never been made to go, so what does she know? And most days, he doesn’t even miss Steve. So, maybe, fake it till you make it does work.

Being friends with Steve is getting easier too. Bucky is pretty sure it’ll get weird again once Christmas comes, because what do they do this year that they’re talking again? But Bucky can worry about that later. For now, he can watch whatever game Steve wanted to watch, even though Bucky only really follows baseball. He can come over with wings and beers and be normal. It’s been two months since they last went to therapy. None of them ever reflect about it, Bucky is sure. Steve cut his hair and shaved his beard. He went the full Stella gets her groove back about the ordeal, so really, everything is behind them by now.

He helps Steve wash up the plates because he hasn’t forgotten how much Steve likes a tidy space. They don’t stand too close, just a friendly two feet space between them. They don’t talk about anything real, anything that will be crossing over to something else. There’s no room to play around boundaries anymore and Steve is the one that Bucky follows. They don’t touch anymore, not even as greeting. It’s for the best, it really is.

“I have to tell you something,” Steve says once he’s wiped his hands dry on the dish towel.

Bucky sits down on the stool by the kitchen island. He looks at Steve intently. “Sure, what’s up?”

Steve doesn’t look back. He scrubs at something on the immaculate counter. Bucky waits. He slides his beer bottle around to give himself something to do. If it’s bad news, he doesn’t know how to handle whatever it is in a friendly way.

“I, um, I’m seeing someone,” Steve blurts out, finally.

Bucky blinks. He waits for the information to fully circle through his brain.

“I thought that you should hear it from me,” Steve goes on, like this is normal, like this is how they talk to each other.

“That’s…Yeah, great. Congrats. I mean, good, yeah, great for you, Steve-o,” Bucky says, looking up at the ceiling, like that will give him an answer.

“Steve…o?” Steve repeats.

“Uh, huh,” Bucky says. Maybe his brain is malfunctioning. How do people know if they’re having a stroke? Do they realize it, or do they slowly descend into a giant metaphorical bag of piss, like Bucky is doing right now?

“Bucky, are you ok?”

Is he ok? Oh, he’s splendid. Steve has a girlfriend. Because of course it’s a woman. Maybe it’s the same mystery woman from a couple months ago. That woman who didn’t mean anything. Who was a stupid mistake. Bucky bets she’d love to know that.

He nods his head as reassurance. Even plasters a wide smile on his face. He wanted this, didn’t he? He chose to get out of couple therapy or whatever the hell they were supposed to call that shitshow. He told Steve he wasn’t interested. What did he think was going to happen? That Steve would just be as miserable as him, wait around until the day that Bucky Barnes would figure out what he wants? Even Bucky isn’t that cruel.

“I was just…surprised, I guess? Sorry. I’m glad. I’m really glad, Steve. I promise.”

Steve nods back, he pushes on his hands splayed on the kitchen island, dropping his head forward a little. He’s so beautiful like this. The kitchen lights hit his face just right. Now that the beard is gone, he looks younger, softer. Bucky wishes he could still walk over and just hold on to his shoulders. Tuck himself into him, feel his impossible warmth.

“It’s not that serious but I wanted to let you know because of the Stark Tower Christmas party.”

Even better news! So they are making it work official. Bucky keeps on nodding. This is truly one of the best days of his life. What a time.

“I know it sounds ridiculous to say, but she asked me to go with her and I said yes. I figured you’d probably be there too, so…Just a heads up.”

Ding, ding, ding. What does he get for guessing that it was a woman? Probably gorgeous and in childbearing years too. Of course, she asked Steve. The most oblivious man in the world. He probably doesn’t know that half the tower pines over Blond-Beefcake-Man. Like everyone in Bucky’s team doesn’t ask where he hides him most of the time.

“Well, thanks for letting me know,” Bucky says. He wishes they could have done this over email. Bucky would have found just the right gif and be done with it.

Steve exhales a slow breath. He looks up at Bucky, a little pained. “Are we ok?”

Are they ok? Bucky blinks a couple more times. Considering they have been divorced for a year and what, six months now? Bucky can’t even remember. When is he supposed to count from, the day that he found out Steve kissed Peggy on a regular basis, or the day Natasha dropped the agreement on his desk and walked out like it was just junk mail?

Bucky is brought back earth side by Steve’s hand on his forearm. He jumps, bringing his hand to his chest in panic. There’s no way he can keep the act up now.

“Bucky,” Steve says, his voice too soft, his face too close. Bucky needs to leave, right this second. “Hey, are you sure you’re alright? Just breathe, sweetheart.”

Bucky feels something rancid crawl up his throat and he’s pretty sure that’s bile. It’s been a while since he threw up his guts but it’s about to happen, any minute now. Sweetheart. What an asshole.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says through clenched teeth, “must be the chicken. I need to…I can’t barf all over Sam’s toilets, Steve, I gotta go.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries again but he doesn’t touch him again. Doesn’t call him sweetheart. Probably never will again.

Bucky jumps out of his chair and is out the door in record time. As soon as the cold night air hits his face, he retches, then vomits everything that just happened on the few steps of the building.

*****

There are many benefits to becoming a director in a multi-billion dollars company. But there are also a lot of work to do, a lot of hands to shake and figurative babies to kiss, which Bucky could really do without. Sometimes, he thinks he shouldn’t have taken the promotion. He should have stayed at the law firm, just worrying about keeping clients’ information safe and whatnot. At least, he was never involved with the schmoozing.

“It’s actually a really good party,” the PA goes on explaining. It’s the kid that was there during all of Bucky’s interviews at the beginning of the year. Peter Parker or something. He can’t be older than twenty-two so Bucky’s not really sure why he’s in charge of convincing Bucky to attend some Christmas networking fest. Where Steve is going to be at, new girlfriend in tow. “And now that you’re a director of this brand-new branch, people are going to want to talk to you about it.”

There it is. It’s probably because the kid looks very close to passing out and is just as adorable as a little wounded puppy. Bucky shakes his head.

“Is attendance mandatory?” He asks.

He could always use Judaism as an excuse. No one needs to know that he does celebrate Christmas.

“Not exactly, no. It’s highly encouraged. It’s a big party. You can bring a plus one too.”

Bucky almost laughs. A plus one. Now that’d be the day. “When is it again?”

“First weekend of December. There’s a dinner first, with just the other directors and Mr. Stark, then a full party. Open bar.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly. It doesn’t sound that bad. He has to at least show his face anyway. Part of the job, he tells himself.

“Sure, alright, I’ll go.”

“So, uh, about the plus one?” Peter says and shuffles on his feet awkwardly.

“Yeah, fine. Put me down with a plus one,” Bucky says mildly. He puts his head in his hands. Another problem on top of his already high pile of shit. Great.


	12. No Man's Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is wearing a dark navy suit and a white shirt and he’s so beautiful that something deep in Bucky’s chest aches. He used to be mine, he thinks. This wonderful, thoughtful, selfless man stood in front of all his friends and family and swore to be mine. Bucky had divorced him, let him go. Bucky had let him meet this probably amazing woman. Would Bucky be invited to their wedding?
> 
> Bucky sinks back into his body and out of his head when he feels Steve’s big, warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, bringing him into some sort of half embrace. Do divorced people do that? Bucky beams at him because he can’t help it.
> 
> When they’re still close, almost wrapped into each other, Steve says quietly, right by his side, “Hey, Buck. You look great.”

Bucky asked Natasha to be his date for the Stark Christmas, not because he’s pathetic and doesn’t have a real date, because he could have a real date if he wanted to, but because it would be weird to bring a brand new guy to a party meant for schmoozing. Bucky is a director now. People want to hear _his_ _thoughts_ on _subjects_. So, he asked Natasha. Natasha had said yes, of course, because all you have to say to get Natasha to show up sometimes is free food and married, miserable people.

Because Natasha is Bucky’s best friend, she also doesn’t mention that Steve will be there. With Sharon. That Bucky has never met but knows is a woman and a gorgeous one at that. It’ll be fine. They’ve been divorced for a year and a half. He’s over it. He’s fine.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Natasha still asks because like everyone in the world, she does have some flaws.

“Yes, what language do I have to say it in? We’re friends. Buddies. Pals.”

“Divorced pals.”

“That’s a thing nowadays, you know. People do that.”

Natasha smirks and hums, like she can see right through him anyway. He avoids her eyes and focuses on straightening his stupid bowtie. Why did he have to wear a bowtie? It isn’t even a bowtie party. It is a formal event but no bowtie event. Is he overdressed?

He turns to look at Natasha who looks unbelievable of course. She is wearing a form fitting black dress, tight in all the right places, her red hair done up in a careful bun.

“If you want to…discuss. I can also. I am capable of doing that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Is this code?”

“Your feelings. You…Do you check in?”

“Do you I check in my feelings? What?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and fixes his bowtie. He is so grateful for her. “This will suck. You deserve happiness as much as Steve, believe it or not. You’ll get there. He just…I don’t know. He’s got a big heart, it’s easier for him. You’re not dead.”

“I know. Terrible pep talk, by the way, but I know. Thank you, Nat. I appreciate it.”

“Just checking in.”

“I’ve got Becca for that, don’t worry.”

Natasha fake frowns. “I think you need more good male influences in your life, Mr. Barnes. Might turn out a homosexual.”

“Golly gee,” Bucky mutters. “Sure hope not.”

She laughs and he smiles. This is comforting. He can do this. He’s got a life of his own now. He feels so much better than he did when he was still married to Steve, turning around in his apartment like a lion in his cage, waiting for crumbs of attention. He’s happy, in a way. He can deal with the pain of seeing Steve moving on.

They go down the steps and into the car that Tony sent for Bucky. It is nice to have those director privileges sometimes.

The party is beautiful but what else is new? Natasha isn’t dazzled because she’s got clients in the highest social spheres of the world and she’s been to a dozen of these parties. Bucky follows her lead and keeps his face as passive as he can make it.

They get sat down in the director area which means no Steve and Natasha gets to work. She is so charming and so effortless in her endeavor that people probably believe that’s just how she always is. In a way, Bucky is glad to get both sides of her. The sarcastic, dorky woman that has three different twitter stan accounts and this socialite with iron wit.

The dinner is mind blowing. This is probably the best food he’s been served. Natasha doesn’t comment.

Pepper comes to greet them and catches up with Bucky. She’s just as warm and friendly as ever and it’s nice to see her. Bucky thanks her again for her recommendation letter.

Then, the tables are cleared and the dance floor area illuminates. There’s a DJ and an open bar but no one is throwing down their moves, thankfully. Just more schmoozing. Natasha is right in her element and Bucky follows along passively.

People come up to him and chat about his upcoming projects, some of his direct reports come say hello and he introduces them to Natasha dutifully. Some people raise some eyebrows and Bucky almost wants to clarify, no, still gay, worry not, but he doesn’t because technically he’s not sure if people know about it or not. Natasha is wearing her engagement and wedding ring while Bucky isn’t wearing anything so that should be enough of a tell anyway.

The hours pass by and no Steve and his new actual, official girlfriend in the area. Tony’s PA, the kid that’s just out of college recognizes him and shouts loudly: “James Buchanan Barnes!” And Bucky, who has been drunk at work parties before, forgives him and shakes his hand and introduces Natasha.

“Miss Romanoff, hi! You’re a…What a…I mean…,” the kid babbles.

“Take a breath, Peter,” Bucky says.

“It’s Mrs. Romanoff, kid,” Natasha declares, wiggling her ring finger to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Romanoff. I mean I’ve met you before…At the firm…Pepper’s firm. I mean Mrs. Stark. I mean.”

The kid looks very close to imploding and Natasha seems extremely pleased by that possible outcome and keeps egging him on. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees a very tall blonde, very beautiful woman, walking over to him. Bucky knows what description she fits but really hopes it’s not who he thinks this is.

“Bucky?” the woman tries. Goddamn it.

“I go by James, professionally, but, um, sure.”

She god-honestly blushes and shakes her head. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve did say. I’m Sharon. Sharon Carter, I, uh…”

“Of course, hi. It’s very nice to meet you.”

He offers her hand, and she shakes it. Her grip is firm but she’s not an asshole about it like Bucky remembers Peggy being. Maybe, she won’t be as bad as Peggy. She seems a lot more casual. Or maybe it’s the accent. Or maybe it’s because it’s Bucky’s third appletini.

“You must have met Natasha,” he continues, because he can still act like a normal human being around his ex-husband’s new girlfriend. “And this is Peter Parker, he’s Tony Stark’s PA.”

“Head PA,” Peter corrects and gives Sharon his hand too.

“Oh, yes, Peter, nice to see you again.”

This is a little awkward, everyone seems to be waiting for someone to speak. Bucky smiles, looking at Natasha for help. She takes Peter and Sharon into a real conversation about something and Bucky breathes again. He can’t help but stare at Sharon. She’s beautiful. She and Steve could become a Nazi propaganda poster couple anytime. Tall, blond and strong. And she’s nice. Bucky knows she’s probably super smart too. And here he is, with his crooked bowtie he can’t tie properly, his grown-out hair and his embarrassing inability to provide Steve with the life he’s always wanted.

Bucky knows how unfair he’s being. He’s being bitter too. He never hid the fact that he never wanted to have children. Steve never hid the fact that he was bisexual. Their marriage fell apart. It was both and neither of their fault. He just wishes for this healing that’s supposed to happen but still hasn’t. Why did it work for Steve and not him?

Bucky tries to get back into the conversation that he missed a good five minutes on when Steve finally appears, from behind some clusters of people. Bucky’s heart skips a beat like it always does when he sees Steve after some absence.

Steve is wearing a dark navy suit and a white shirt and he’s so beautiful that something deep in Bucky’s chest aches. He used to be mine, he thinks. This wonderful, thoughtful, selfless man stood in front of all his friends and family and swore to be mine. Bucky had divorced him, let him go. Bucky had let him meet this probably amazing woman. Would Bucky be invited to their wedding?

Bucky sinks back into his body and out of his head when he feels Steve’s big, warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, bringing him into some sort of half embrace. Do divorced people do that? Bucky beams at him because he can’t help it.

When they’re still close, almost wrapped into each other, Steve says quietly, right by his side, “Hey, Buck. You look great.”

“Um. Hi. Thanks, so do you.”

A flood of memory drowns his brain. Steve, waking up as Bucky was almost out of the door to go to his classes, his hair short from the army, his beard getting thicker, “Look at my scholar boyfriend. You look great.” In another life, Bucky hadn’t been this awkward. He had bent over to catch his lips and Steve had messed his hair because he was a dick. They had been so in love. Now, they were divorced. Ten years had passed since that memory. Bucky was thirty-five now. He felt about a hundred older.

Steve gives the same weird greeting to Natasha, shakes Peter’s hand and then settles by Sharon’s side. He puts his hand on the small of her back for a fleeting second before he shoves both his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, Bucky can tell. Almost thirty years of history would give you that much.

Bucky tries his hardest to get into what they’re arguing about but it’s a lost cause now. Peter disappears when Tony seems to have finally retrieved him. Natasha and Sharon start to chat about some senator’s affairs. Bucky guesses he must be one of Nat’s prospective clients. He catches Steve’s eyes now and then but they both stay silent. At least it’s not just him that’s feeling awkward as hell.

Bucky zeroes in on the tie Steve is wearing and a whole different kind of atrociously painful memories comes back to him a mile a minute. A bright summer day, his mother crying, Becca ribbing him because of his nerdiness. “May the Forth, really! And no one noticed! You are the only dork you know, Jaime, very sad.” But Steve had laughed. Steve had thought that was a great time of the year in New York anyway, which was wrong, but he had let Bucky have his way.

They had decided to wear navy suits because it was what suited them both. It fitted that old stupid saying, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. The old thing was their dog tags, which was easy. Then, they both bought a new blue tie to match the suits and gave it to each other.

And now, Bucky notices. Steve has moved on. Steve has forgotten about that day in the spring when they had sworn to belong to each other until death did them part. Steve was wearing his wedding tie to a party he had taken Sharon to. As a real date. Bucky couldn’t breathe.

“Buck? Everything ok?” Steve asks, an eyebrow raised, so much goddamn concern on his face like he still cared about him that way.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” he says, waving him away. He can’t take his eyes off the tie. He looks to the side, to find solace in Natasha’s steady gaze, but she doesn’t turn from Sharon.

“Are you sure?” Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s elbow, the arm with which he’s holding his cocktail. Bucky downs it in one gulp, stupidly thinking that’ll help. He’s still staring at that goddamn tie. Steve looks down dumbly, like the answer for his question might be written across his wide and obscenely tight chest. “Oh. Bucky, I didn’t even realize. I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t even…I was wearing blue. God, it’s not better…”

Natasha and Sharon finally stop talking and turn around, Natasha to Bucky and Sharon to the fucking moron Bucky used to be married to.

“James?” Natasha asks. Checking in. What an idiocy.

“It’s nothing,” he says with whatever he manages to pass off as a shrug. “Steve is wearing my wedding tie. It doesn’t have to matter. It was just a stupid saying anyway.”

Natasha looks in between them then remembers, very slowly. Bucky can see the information travel through her slightly tipsy brain. Her eyebrows furrow and her lips tighten. “Steve,” she finally says, a little bit scowling. It’s not fair and it’s not her place but they’re all doing the best they can with what they’re given. What Natasha has is a heartbroken best friend who has spent eight months crying in her apartment.

“I don’t follow,” Sharon says, not too loud, not willing to intrude. What a good person. Bucky wants to die.

“You know, um,” Steve begins. This is getting more and more awkward. “The saying. You know, something borrowed, something new, something blue?” It doesn’t go like that but Sharon nods anyway. “Bucky and I bought a tie and borrowed it from each other. This is…This is Bucky’s.”

Sharon cringes a little, god bless her heart, but she nods anyway. Bucky sighs. “It’s still just a tie,” he tries to say with a smile, but it comes out a little wrong, all his anxiety and nervousness twisting his tone.

“Do you, um, want it back?” Steve says because he’s not just a massive moron, he’s also very inept socially.

Bucky glares a little. “No Steve, I do not want my bad juju tie from our failed wedding back. Guess that’s why it failed. We never returned the ties, so they weren’t borrowed. Jinxed it.”

Sharon laughs politely and Bucky guesses it’s as good as anything to change the conversation. After another minute of this excruciating nightmare, Natasha manages to have them excuse themselves and walk away from the scene of the crime.

“I don’t want to be rude, but James promised to show me his corner office he got promoted into and I really wouldn’t want to miss it,” she says and it’s technically true, so everyone agrees.

This time, Steve doesn’t press Bucky into a half embrace. He just waves. So does Sharon. It really is for the best. Bucky directs Natasha into the elevator that takes them to his floor. He is proud to show her around. It is a nice office and he is doing well for himself. He closes the door behind them, and she looks down at the view of Manhattan ahead of them.

“It’s really beautiful,” she comments, kind of to fill the silence he guesses.

Bucky sits down on the sofa and undoes his bowtie. He rubs a hand on his sweaty face. He hates these kinds of parties, he just decided now.

“So,” she starts but doesn’t finish.

“I’m all checked in. Please don’t.”

“His wedding tie. Yours, I guess. Jinxed it.”

“Oh god, Nat, did you record everything embarrassing I said tonight to play it back now?”

“It’s almost funny at this point. First the bracelets, then this. It’s basically a running gag of Freudian slips.”

Bucky puts his head in his hands, burying his fingers in his hair until he feels them dig into his scalp. He lets out a shuddering sigh.

“You said you were fine,” she says quietly, twirling the champagne flute around as she explores the office.

“I am fine. I just didn’t…expect that. I don’t know. Isn’t that weird that he didn’t realize? I mean, I guess he never wears ties so maybe that was the only one he owns. But then, wouldn’t you remember even better where you got that one tie?”

“Maybe it is code,” Natasha mocks.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky moans, dragging his hand on his face again. “Breaking news, Bucky Barnes is still a mess. What do you want from me?”

She sits down next to him on the sofa and brushes his hair away from his forehead. “You have no idea what you want, James. We’ve talked about this so much. Steve went to therapy, he quit his fancy spy job, he wanted to date you and you ran off. So, he moves on, finds a girlfriend and you have a panic attack in the middle of the biggest party of your year. What is it that you need?”

Bucky can’t help the tears falling from his eyes. “I really loved him, Nat.”

“I know.”

“I married him. I said yes. He was my whole life, for my whole life. Bucky and Steve. We were a unit.”

“Maybe that was the problem. You put too much into each other’s hands. It was always meant to explode.”

“See, I don’t need therapy, I have you,” he grumbles because he’s allowed some immaturity when he can feel his heart burn a hole in his chest.

“You definitely need therapy but that’s a different conversation. Are you ready to go home?”

Bucky nods, drying his face. “I don’t think Stark will notice we’re gone. I’ve done my rounds, I guess. Want to have a sleepover and eat ice cream?”

“Sure.” She smiles and it’s genuine. Bucky doesn’t deserve her. “But no more talking about boys, please I’m so tired.”

Bucky laughs. He’s still crying a little bit, but he means it. He’ll be ok. He can get through this.

They get back down the elevators. They don’t see anyone they know. The driver that brought them in is there waiting to bring them back home. They stop by a bodega to stock up on snacks and Bucky feels like he’s twenty-three again and he’s just met Miss Romanoff, the undergraduate that wears flowers in her hair to class. That had been their first way of bonding, eating snacks and watching stupid, low budget sci-fi movies. 

Tonight, they huddle together on Bucky’s sofa and he feels like nothing has changed while the world has turned upside down. They look for the lowest rated movies on Netflix and take their pick.

Bucky forgets about Steve and Sharon for a while but then he thinks, they’re definitely fucking as Bucky is cuddling Natasha on the couch. Bucky can just picture Steve’s suit on the floor, all messed up and wrinkled, Bucky’s tie lost somewhere. Sharon’s dress mingled in. What did she wear? Bucky can’t even remember. But then, Bucky remembers that Steve is a soldier through and through, he never throws his good clothes on the floor, in a hurry. He puts everything neatly away, so that it doesn’t get wrinkled. Bucky remembers all of the times he had shed all his layers and waited a good ten minute on the bed for Steve to come over and fuck him.

The image in his head is now Steve and Sharon getting to it, making out, probably like Steve had kissed Peggy, that one day in May. Then, as they got home and Sharon took her dress off, Steve untied the fateful tie and was reminded of his wedding day. He probably froze, as he rolled it and put it down carefully. Sharon had to notice, because Steve doesn’t know anything about subtlety and, because she heard the story, she must be at least a little offended that Steve was acting that way.

So, the moment is over. Maybe, Steve spends the rest of the night thinking of their wedding night. How he had done exactly the same, while Bucky was already naked and ready to go, very drunk and even more eager. How Steve had taken his sweet time, undoing every button with care, and had watched as Bucky, losing patience, had started working himself open. “Oh, if you wanted a show, all you had to do was ask,” Bucky had said. “Mr. Rogers-Barnes, this all comes in the wedding contract. This is for free now.” Steve had laughed and Bucky had moaned as he slipped a second finger in his own hole. Steve had popped the next button and cursed. It had been one of the happiest times in Bucky’s life. 

Because he’s so petty and he’s an asshole, Bucky picks up his phone. Natasha almost tries to bat it away from him, but she resists the urge and just watches him with sleepy eyes. He goes on Facebook where he knows their wedding video is still up, on their stupid Facebook wedding group his mom created and never deleted and goes through his contact list. Steve is online too. He smirks to himself. He can believe that Steve didn’t mean to put on the cursed tie, but he can’t believe he’s not thinking about Bucky on their wedding day right now too. He won't forget. And if he doesn't forget that, maybe he won't forget Bucky either.

“What are you so suddenly happy about?”

“Nothing,” Bucky mumbles quickly, a little offended. “Shouldn’t you be happy I cheered up?”

She shakes her head and lies down on his lap, closing her eyes. She’s wearing her pajamas now and she looks so much smaller. Bucky pets her hair gently. He drifts off too, his phone forgotten in his hand. Just in case anyone would text.

*****

The next time that Bucky sees Steve, he sits where Natasha did, while Bucky cooks them dinner. If Bucky were looking for even more heartbreak, he could pretend this was their Bushwick condo, that they were still married, and that Steve had come back from a long mission and he was home. Except this stupid fantasy never even happened. Bucky never used to cook for Steve. They would get takeout and eat in bed, not taking their hands off each other for long. Then, the next day, Bucky would be alone again. It’s getting easier to shake himself out of his thoughts nowadays. It’s almost like he’s learning.

Bucky is just making carbonara. It’s not a big deal. They’ve got the cheap Netflix movies out. This couldn’t be further from a date. This is an evening with Natasha at best. They’re friends. Divorced pals. It does happen. Bucky is _fine_.

They haven’t talked about the Stark party. It’s been almost a week. They don’t need to talk about it. It was a good party, Bucky met Sharon, she seems great, nothing to go over. Just friends being friends.

“Alright, it’s done, babe,” Bucky calls out when he finishes to plate it up. He wants to bite his own tongue out.

Steve chuckles, because he’s an asshole. “What?”

“I said, dinner is served.” Bucky pauses for a second. “Buddy.”

“Buddy?”

“Yes. Friend. Food is ready for consumption. Please take your seat at the table because I don’t want stains on this sofa. I won’t tell you how much it cost but be assured I’d like it to remain clean.”

“Sure, Buck, whatever you want,” he says and pauses like Bucky did, “pal.”

“You are the worst person I know,” Bucky comments quietly, putting the cutlery neatly next to the plates on his kitchen island. “I am making you food too. What an ungrateful bastard Captain America is.”

“Captain America is retired, he’s free to be as much as a dick as he wants.”

Bucky has a little laugh as he sits down next to Steve. They rotate on their barstools like they used to do when they were fourteen and giggle. Why couldn’t they act like that when they were still married? Why is Bucky’s life always so hard? He hates to think that maybe they’re in such a good place now because Steve has moved on.

They stopped wriggling in their seats and start actually eating. Bucky pours some red wine. They eat in silence, except for the occasional elbow that Steve drives into Bucky’s ribs to make him sputter in his wine glass. Because he’s an asshole. Bucky feels so full. He shouldn’t be this happy around Steve, but he is now. He tries to convince himself he just missed his best friend.

Once they’re finished eating, Steve clears the table and Bucky doesn’t think about the last time that happened and Steve cornered him in that little space, bringing him up on the counter, pulling up his t-shirt, kissing him stupid…It doesn’t even enter his mind.

They sit down and watch their stupid movie with whatever leftover ice cream Bucky had from the Stark party. He also keeps that story to himself. The movie is bad in that way that is just extremely boring. Steve starts fidgeting. Bucky can tell he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Bucky prays to whichever god is listening that he’s not getting ready to announce he’s moving in with Sharon. Or marrying her. God, Bucky does not want to go to their wedding. What if Steve would ask him to be his best man? What a nightmare.

“Buck,” Steve starts. This is going to be bad. Bucky can tell. He braces himself, turning around to look at Steve. Steve avoids his eyes and keeps staring at the TV. “I, uh. I wanted to say I’m sorry. About the tie.”

Oh, thank God.

“I don’t care about the tie. I told you.”

Steve shakes his head a little like he doesn’t fully believe that. “I know. But I do. It was…Poor taste, I guess. Sharon definitely thought so. I’m not sure where we stand there…Um. Nothing to do with you, or. God, this is stupid, isn’t it?”

Steve bites his lower lip, pained. He’s so gorgeous like that, a little flushed, feeling guilty, like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He turns his head to look at Bucky, looking up with his long eyelashes. Bucky is still way too in love with this man. He’s been getting so good at pretending. It’s like something shatters.

“No, I don’t think so,” Bucky says quietly. He’s being such an asshole. He shouldn’t do it.

He’s going to do it anyway. He slides forward on the sofa. He’s got an arm up on the back pillow, a hand holding up his head, his other free, resting on his own knee. Steve is completely straight, facing the TV. He turns again to meet Bucky’s eyes and he frowns. They’re so close now, merely inches away. Bucky just wants to taste his lips. They’re a little red from the biting. Bucky wants to remember what they look like after kissing, flush and full. Bucky wants so much.

Steve moves his head to the side, a little inclined, like he’s ready to meet Bucky wherever he might go. This is the stupid thing. Where will this go? They can’t go there. They’ve moved on. It’s been a year and a half. Steve has a girlfriend.

Bucky does Steve a small mercy. He pushes his forehead on Steve’s and rests it there. They both close their eyes. They haven’t crossed the line. They can stay safe.

“Bucky,” Steve says, and it sounds a little too breathless.

“It’s not fair, Steve. I’m sorry. I’m not being fair.”

“I, uh,” Steve can’t even find the words. He doesn’t move. “I really like Sharon.”

Bucky doesn’t move either. “I know. She seems great. I’m really happy for you.” It doesn’t sound rehearsed. Maybe Steve can believe him.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Buck.”

Ain’t that the real problem here. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is…I like this, you know? I like being friends. I like being in your life.”

Bucky is the one who moves. But Bucky is still the world’s dumbest son of bitch, so he presses a kiss into Steve’s brow, a lingering touch of his lips against Steve’s skin. He just wants to cover him in kisses, not let one inch untouched. But he doesn’t. He pulls away.

“Let me stay in your life, ok?” Bucky says so low it’s almost a whisper. “Please?”

He strokes Steve’s bare cheek. He liked the beard, but he likes the smooth skin underneath even more.

“I don’t know who I’d be if you weren’t in my life, Buck.”

Bucky nods and goes back to the approved distance that friends have between each other. Bucky remembers that he will never kiss Steve’s big, dumb face again. He will never hold him like he used to again, Steve pressed against him on the sofa that’s about a foot too small for that. “I will asphyxiate,” Bucky used to say, trying to sound like he was actually upset. “Big words. Did you go to college by any chance?” Steve would reply and gather him the way he wanted him, so he could kiss him and grind into him, peel off his layers of clothes. God, he loved Steve so much.

“It’s…uh. Me too,” Bucky says eloquently. “This is good. We’re doing good.”

Steve has a low chuckle. “You’d think college would have taught you more words than that, wouldn’t you?”

For a split second, Bucky wonders if Steve’s mind went to the same place as Bucky’s. Because he’s so shocked, he blurts out, “did you watch the wedding video the night of the party?” Moron. World’s biggest idiot.

“What?”

“I…Never mind. I don’t know why I said that.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “The night of the party? Do you mean Stark’s party? How do you know about that?”

Got it right, then. “I don’t know. I don’t…It’s just. My mom should have figured out Facebook by now, right? What’s the point of keeping that group up?” he says nervously, looking away.

“Yeah. I guess…I guess it’s a nice video.”

Bucky hums. Steve smiles and it’s as loud and bright as ever. Bucky aches for his touch.

“Can’t believe I managed to wear you down and let me make an honest man out of you.”

“Excuse you. I made an honest man out of you. Only because my mom wanted it so bad.”

“Alright, then. Only took you fifteen years. You sure knew how to make a guy wait.”

They look at each other again, a little glance and Bucky feels so warm. This isn’t what pals do. Reminiscing about their failed marriage affectionately.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bucky murmurs, looking at the TV again.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Everything? I think I considered myself the victim in all of this. Like you hurt me, and you were the reason we fell apart,” he pauses to take a breath. Steve is silent besides him. Bucky looks at him but can’t find his eyes. He settles on the movie again. “But I guess I didn’t fight for you. I just let myself resent you and it wasn’t fair for either of us. I could have tried harder and I didn’t. I walked out on you. I blocked you on everything and I didn’t give you a chance to fix anything. I quit the therapy. I don’t want to say I regret this because that’s not fair, not when I can’t change it now. But, if I could, maybe I’d do things differently.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a minute. Bucky feels terrible. How easy is it to say all that now, when there’s nothing that either of them could do about anything? Bucky just keeps on hurting Steve and he knows it. He just can’t help it.

“Thank you for saying that, Buck,” Steve says, not looking at him. His legs are jittering. He presses both his hands on his knees to calm them down. “I know this is a strange situation. But it does mean something.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, swallowing. “Anytime.” Anytime? What?

Steve glances at him for a second. “It was Sharon, you know. The video.”

“What?”

“She, uh, she didn’t really believe that it was an accident. Guess I’m such an idiot that it seems like I’m doing it on purpose. I’m not, by the way, I’m just stupid.” Bucky cackles at that. “I only own two ties! One black and the blue one. What was I supposed to do?”

“I know, babe,” Bucky says absently, trying to catch up with all he’s missed in the movie. Goddamn it. “I mean, buddy.”

Steve laughs. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

Bucky swats at his stomach from his corner of the sofa. “Finish your story!”

“Anyway. Pal,” he says pointedly, “she wanted to see the pictures. See what…Uh.”

“You’re really dragging this here, Steve.”

“She wanted to see what your tie looked like. If the one I picked was anything special, like a proof that I knew what I was doing. I don’t have…I don’t have any pictures anywhere. It’d be weird otherwise, right? So, I showed her that Facebook group. The video is the top post so…Yeah.”

So, that was what had happened. In a way, it was way worse that what Bucky had hoped had happened. He might be a bad person, but he’s not sadist.

“That must have been fun. Watching your wedding video with your girlfriend. Did she like my suit?”

Steve doesn’t find that funny. He gives Bucky his best I’m-Disappointed-in-you-and-so-is-America stare and Bucky laughs. “It was a good suit. Maybe I can tell her about the bracelets next time I see her. Keep the theme going.”

“This is…,” Steve huffs. He looks at him up and down to check if Bucky is just joking or not. “Anyway, things are weird now so.” He has a little shrug. “I don’t know if you’ll see her anytime soon.”

“Because she hates me or because she hates you?”

“Oh, no, she probably thinks you’re great. She just thinks…You know, I haven’t moved on or whatever.”

Bucky won’t push this because he’s not that bad of a person. He still hopes. He can’t help it. He’s the one that put them in this position and yet, he still wants. He wants Steve every morning and every evening, he wants his strong arms around his waist. He wants to be lifted up and hauled into bed. He wants to nag him about picking up his shit. He wants to hear him say how much he loves him again.

They keep on watching the end of the movie in silence. The atmosphere has changed. They have to figure out how to handle these sorts of situations, when it’s a little awkward, when they remember a bit too much about who they were and what they meant to each other. They can do it, they just have to try. Bucky won’t run away this time.

When the credits are rolling, Steve stretches. He yawns.

“Ready for bed, grandpa? It’s just past ten.” Bucky frowns, “Are you pretending to be tired to leave? You can just leave, you know.”

“I know, Buck. Just a long day.” He settles more into the sofa and puts his feet up the coffee table. Bucky wants to crawl into his lap and hold onto his neck like a koala. Steve settles his arms wide on the back cushions. He looks at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “What? You can put the next movie on, I’m alert enough for your shitty sci-fi flicks.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah, fine. Let’s try this one.” He reaches up for the remote, putting both feet down on the ground again, and clicks on some buttons. He settles back in the heat of Steve’s body, bringing his knees up to his chest. Then freezes. God-fucking-damn it. What is wrong with him? “I know this is hard to believe but please know if there was a contest of who is the biggest moron in this room, there’d be a tie.”

Steve laughs, a real laugh, a happy one too. He starts stroking Bucky’s back, letting him get comfortable, cuddled up on his side. Bucky could cry. He missed this so much.

“Just pals hanging out,” Steve comments with a smirk, “buddy.”

In all honesty, Bucky is a tactile person. He does this with Natasha. He’s gay but it’s still platonic for Natasha. It’s fine. He puts his head down on Steve’s massive chest and sighs. He doesn’t mean it, he hopes the loud credits covered it. He grabs onto to Steve’s waist. He closes his eyes without meaning to either. Steve wraps his arm around him, starts petting his hair. It’s so familiar and good. They’ve done this for seventeen years. It’s only fair that they keep doing it as pals. Divorced, good pals. Best pals. Buddies.

Bucky doesn’t know when he falls asleep. It should register, given the awkward position and angle. It’s like he shuts down. Steve doesn’t move him. He probably falls asleep at the same time. It’s one of the most relaxing night Bucky has in a while. None of them say anything about it. They’ve both moved on. It’s fine.

*****

“So, you just cuddled all night?” Natasha asks as they’re picking up different kinds of cheese for her stupid party.

“We are two grown men,” Bucky says with a sigh, “we did not cuddle.”

“Fine, you embraced each other all night with all your macho might. Platonically. Because neither of you has feelings for the other anymore.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know why it’s that hard to believe.” She glares at him a little from the Swiss section. Why are there so many kinds of cheese? Everything tastes the same, doesn’t it? Bucky rolls his eyes. “It is the god honest truth.”

“Did you wake up with a boner?”

“Wow, Nat. Do you want to have this conversation in between the Swiss and the Italians?” He gestures at the thousands mini flags spread on the metal shelves.

Natasha has the decency to at least smile. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

“Yeah. You were there when I met her, literally a week ago. Twelve days ago, I guess. And she’s great! I’m so happy for her.”

“So happy that you cuddled in the manliest way with her boyfriend in your apartment? For a full night.”

“We woke up at like three and then he left, so no, not even a full night.”

“I’m sure this is what she’ll care about. At least it wasn’t a full eight hours.”

“Details do matter,” he says as he picks up a brick of orange cheese. “As you’d know, making me look at a thousand different kinds of cheese for some reason, like I know what I’m picking. Why don’t you invite Steve and good ole Sharon to your fancy cheese night? I’ll show you how fine I am with my best pal, Steve.”

“This doesn’t sound like you think it does.”

Bucky laughs. “It does sound like the start of a porn film.”

“James,” Natasha warns.

“I know it’s stupid. But can you blame me? It’s not like I can forget muscle memory or whatever. I’m trying to move on. I’ve tried not talking to him ever and it sucked. You’d remember that much. I’ve tried getting back together and that sucked too. So, now, I’m trying to find a balance in the middle, alright?”

She nods, focusing her eyes on some more soft cheese. If it’s goat cheese, it’d all taste the same, he is almost a hundred percent sure.

“It’s not easy, you know. I never thought I’d have to do this.”

“I know. Just don’t hurt another person while you’re figuring it out. You went through that, you don’t want anyone else to feel like that, do you?”

The fact that he still shudders whenever Peggy fucking Carter is mentioned is proof that he doesn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

“Maybe I should just keep a little picture of Peggy in my wallet to remind myself I hate him more than I want him to defile me in public.”

“Ew,” Natasha says before she cackles. “James Buchanan Barnes!” She bounces some blue cheese on his forehead and laughs some more. “And I actually meant Pietro. But both you and Steve suck, I guess.”

Bucky sighs. “Can I be on wine duty? I know wine. Why am I picking the cheese?”

“There’s no wine or cheese duty, we’re doing this together. We’re bonding.”

“Haven’t you bonded with me enough?”

She hugs his waist furiously. “I can never bond with you enough, sweet pea.”

“First, gross.” She snickers into his side. “Second, we have enough cheese for one evening. Who needs all this?” he points toward her very full cart.

“It’s about the experience,” she grumbles as she lets go and pushes the cart. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s a European thing.”

“You’re Russian.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t say I get it either.”

*****

Natasha does invite Steve and Sharon to her stupid cheese party, because it’s also Clint’s stupid cheese party and they are friends of his. Technically. It’s a real party too, in their big new open space condo. Thank god for small mercies sometimes because at least Natasha’s fancy lawyer salary combined with Clint’s superspy bonuses means that their new apartment is twice as big as before. Which means Bucky has hopes that he can manage to avoid Steve and Sharon for an entire night.

One thing that Natasha obviously forgot to mention on purpose is that Wanda and Pietro are here too. Still, the party is big enough that Bucky hopes to avoid Steve and Sharon meeting with Pietro. Bucky also hopes Pietro wouldn’t say anything. Pietro is not petty. It’s fine. It’s just a stupid cheese party.

Bucky settles on doing what he knows best at parties, he pets Clint’s stupidly adorable dog. It turns to out to be a bad move because the grown man kneeling to talk to an animal who can’t understand him is very easily noticeable. Bucky recognizes the feet of Steve and Sharon after a couple of minutes in the deepest corner of the living room.

He gets up and gets wrapped up in a real hug from Steve. He feels his warmth and bulk and melts a little in the embrace. Divorced pals, he reminds himself and lets Steve go. He has to do the same with Sharon now or that’d be weird. She pats him on the back quickly and they separate.

“How’s it going?” He says, pretending this is a casual encounter and not wrecking his nerves. Did he used to be able to act like a normal human being?

“Oh, you know,” Sharon says, “the usual. Stark’s keeping us busy. My boss is the worst, so demanding,” she says with a small laugh.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve clears his throat.

"Sharon works with me. Different departments but technically, I'm her boss."

She smiles brightly. Bucky wishes he could teleport right back into his living room where there is no cheese, no wine and no new girlfriend and cute little routines of small talk.

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” he says to Sharon, then realizes how that sounds. “I mean…Steve was my CO too. In the, uh, the army. Afghanistan. I know of…his leadership.” For fuck’s sake. Why does he make everything sound gay and sexual?

Steve looks like he wants to burst out laughing but still holds it, looking at Sharon with a smirk. Then back at Bucky with his stupid, open and bright face. “You’d be surprised, Bucky was pretty good at taking my orders.” And shit if that’s not worse than what Bucky said. “Uh. I mean, considering how I was. I was the CO.”

Sharon nods, seemingly having a great time of their awkwardness. “You both know I know you used to be married, right? You can stop reminding me.”

Bucky relaxes and laughs without even faking it. Sharon is great. It breaks his heart still, but Sharon is great not just generally, she’s great for Steve. They could make it. She could be the one for Steve. Bucky’s even happy for him. Has he moved on too? Is he being a mature adult for once? Golly gee, wouldn’t Natasha be so proud.

“Was the cheese your idea?” Steve asks when they all settle.

“God, no. You know Nat and her Pinterest boards. She gets these ideas.” He shrugs, waving vaguely at his own head. “I did pick it all with her. If it’s nice, thank me. If not, get Natasha.”

Steve and Sharon both nod and Sharon’s hand wraps around Steve’s waist before finding its place in his back pocket. Like it belongs there. Bucky turns his eyes away quickly. He feels like there’s a knife digging at his chest, checking if the wounds are still fresh enough to hurt. So, not really over it, then.

“You should introduce Sharon to the gang,” Bucky says softly. When has he ever used that word? What an idiot.

“The gang?” Steve repeats with a grin. Yes, still an asshole, no change there.

“You know, the…gang,” Bucky continues. “I bet you want to meet everyone, right? I’ll be by the...” He checks the flag buried in the plate of cheese behind him. “Is that Switzerland? I’ll be by Switzerland.”

Sharon seems to get the hint and pushes Steve forward. With the hand in his butt pocket. “It’s nice to see you, James.”

Bucky is grateful she doesn’t call him Bucky either. It is stupid in a way. It is his name. But it’s the name Steve has given him, intimately. It would just be too odd to hear Steve’s new girlfriend say it. He nods again and they leave him with Lucky again.

Natasha appears by his side when he turns around and he almost jumps. She smirks at him. Has she been there the whole time?

“How’s your best pal?” she says.

“You’re my best pal. How are you?”

She presses her index finger into his side. “James.”

“Fuck off. Are you trying to have me die from second-hand embarrassment tonight? Are you gathering all my sworn enemies in the next room? What’s your end goal here?”

She shrugs. “I’m having a party. With cheese and wine pairings from Europe. Where was I supposed to get the entertainment from if not your love life?”

Huh. Now that makes sense, even while he knows she’s half joking. “Extremely cruel but well played, Romanoff. Didn’t expect that from you. But then again, I should have.”

“Steve has a girlfriend. But other men are here. Available ones.” She wriggles her eyebrows. “Ones that have expressed an interest in your train wreck of a personality before, god only knows why.”

“Smooth, Nat, hella smooth. I’m not doing that again.”

“Suit yourself,” she says and then walks away. It is her party after all, she’s got other things to do than babysit him through his feelings.

Bucky gets a beer out of the fridge because he suddenly decided he wants nothing to do with Nat’s shenanigans. He’s seen Pietro and Pietro saw him. They exchanged a quick glance and Bucky was almost certainly sure Pietro winked. It could also have been him blinking.

He looks good, though. His hair is still white. Silver, he’d correct Bucky, with his tongue catching on the R, like a sexy eastern European god. He’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks and Bucky can remember how that felt on his chest, on his back, on his ass cheeks. Goddamn. And that red mouth. It should be proclaimed illegal to be this hot. Bucky remembers too much. He feels too flustered. It’s been a while. It’s been a long while really. And the sounds Pietro used to make as he was buried deep inside Bucky…Illegal. That’s how it should be.

Bucky avoids him, just to be safe. Wanda comes to him and Bucky remembers how long it’s been since he last saw her. He feels bad. They always got along. Wanda reminds him of Natasha in the way that’s she a massive nerd, has a heart twice as big as her body and for some reason, most people get very intimated when she’s around and she very proudly gets off on it. Wanda’s great.

She hugs him tightly and congratulates him on the promotion. It’s been a very long while then. He hopes it wasn’t because of what happened between him and Pietro. He likes Wanda.

“Sharon seems nice,” she says after a while, after they’ve been through the usual topics.

“Yeah, she really is. I mean, I’ve met her twice now. But they’re great. You know, together.”

Wanda nods and leaves it. She doesn’t mention Pietro at all. Wanda is really great. Bucky has to hang out with her more often. He makes a mental note to drag himself out of his apartment the next weekend to get brunch with her. He tells her so and she beams. He’s made it, then. Made another effort to be a normal, complete person that doesn’t revolve around Steve or his love life. He’s doing so well.

Other people come up to Bucky as time goes by. The rest of SHIELD people that Clint invited. Some people from the law firm. Bucky drifts in and out of conversations. After a while, he switches to wine and partakes in Natasha’s stupid European tour of the living room. It’s not as bad as he hoped it would be.

It’s well until the night when Bucky, half listening to Clint’s army buddy’s story, with his arms crossed on his chest, a new bottle of beer leaning forward in one of his hand, notices that Pietro is coming over. At this point, he has become pretty intoxicated and hopes his breath smells more of fruit jams and grapes than blue cheese from Italy.

Pietro clinks his own beer bottle against the neck of Bucky’s, as if Bucky had been holding it out in invitation. Bucky blinks up to him. Yep, still just as hot up close. From this close, Bucky can almost smell his expensive cologne. Pietro is so refined. Why couldn’t Bucky give him a proper chance? This fancy, unbelievably good-looking man had said to him, “Whatever you want to give me, I’ll take it.” And Bucky still had ruined it.

“It’s been a while. How are you keeping? Heard you got a promotion.”

Bucky tries his hardest to compose himself. “I…Uh, yeah. Guess I did.” And this beautiful man had fallen for Bucky and his words. What a scam. “Stark is…well, there. But my work is good. Challenging. I enjoy it now if you can believe that.”

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you. I’ve met Stark, you know? Back in the day. I was an assistant on a photoshoot, and he was seeing one of the models. He threw up in my kit. Next day, I had another one delivered to my house with stuff that cost triple that price.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “He is a disaster, but he means well. I guess. But wait, he was fucking a model? That was before Pepper? How old were you?”

Pietro shakes his head, even blushes a little. He’s so goddamn gorgeous. “Sixteen. Started out young, I told you, didn’t I?”

Bucky grins. He can’t imagine Pietro being sixteen and impressionable, trying his best in front of billionaire inventor Tony Stark passing out in public. Can’t have been long before Tony got serious with Pepper. Pietro is quite younger than Bucky, he remembers sharply. He remembers Steve’s word too. He had asked in that stupid voice, half condescending, half curious. “Ain’t he a bit young for you?” And fuck you, memory Steve. How old is Sharon anyway? How old is Peggy?

Bucky remembers he’s having a conversation with a real person and shakes himself into motion.

“How about you? How are you?”

Pietro shrugs as he takes another sip of beer. That fucking mouth. “Nothing much different. I’m booking more shows this season. I’m spending less time at the salon. It’s good, you know. Always something to do.”

“I’m glad. You deserve it. Not many people can claim they made my hair look anything close to decent.”

With that, Pietro smirks and bends forward to grab a strand of Bucky’s hair between his fingers. Bucky feels electrified. Pietro rolls it between his thumb and index finger before pushing it back behind Bucky’s ear. The touch is so gentle and sweet that it makes Bucky swell with want.

“It’s getting pretty long, isn’t it? I can book you in sometimes. You know where to find me.”

Pietro is still just as smooth. Bucky is a disaster, he really is.

“How about…Are you. Uh, seeing anyone?”

Pietro has a little laugh. “Might be. Depends on who’s asking.” He takes another sip of his beer but this time, he lifts the bottle up and Bucky is mesmerized, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down. Of course, he remembers tracing that long line of skin with his tongue, going more and more south. The way his muscles rippled against Bucky’s mouth. God.

“That’s fair.” He tries to smile. “I know you might not want to hear that from me, but I really did mean what I said. You deserve happiness.”

“It’s ok. I saw Steve and his girlfriend. She seems nice.”

Yeah, can no one drop it? She’s great, everyone gets it.

“She sure is.”

“You know you deserve happiness too, right?” He says, his voice low and dark and damn it, if he makes a move, Bucky is gone.

Like a prophecy, Pietro crowds his space with his chiseled body. He puts a hand on Bucky’s hip, as if he were trying to push past but resting it there in the end. He grabs a piece of grape behind Bucky, on the French area. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He holds onto the mouth of his beer bottle to hide it. It probably doesn’t work.

“You didn’t say who was asking,” Pietro goes on as he’s standing back in front of Bucky. His hand is still on Bucky’s waist, as if anchored there, he’s so close he’s basically whispering in Bucky’s ear. “That was a line and you ruined it.”

Oh, god. Dear god. Is this stupid? It most definitely is. But it’s been a long damn while and this doesn’t have to mean anything. They could just have sex, for old time’s sake. Maybe it’ll work as a charm for Pietro and he’ll find his own Sharon in no time.

“Guess that was a stupid line,” Bucky whispers back, “need to work on your game a little there, pal.”

Pietro has a chuckle and he’s so damn cute, Bucky wants to eat him. They’re inches away from each other. Bucky would only have to angle his head up a little and they’d be kissing in the middle of Natasha and Clint’s living room. Lucky for them, Bucky has more restraint than that.

“Thing is with you, Bucky, you always try to ruin things with all this honesty and feelings. Why can’t you take a good thing for what it is?” Pietro’s smile is blinding. His teeth are so white, and his mouth is so red in comparison.

“Oh, I’m the one who ruins things with feelings?” he says with a small laugh.

“Can you take one night, or will I have to break your heart all over again?”

Bucky’s heart races in his chest. One night. It sounds really good. Just one night too, Pietro said it, so Bucky wouldn’t be an asshole for leaving in the morning.

“One night, huh? It’s pretty late already.”

Pietro catches Bucky’s earlobe with his teeth. Bucky shivers. This is a dirty trick and they both know it.

“Have to make the most of it then. Still live where you do?”

Bucky nods, a little too eagerly.

“Let me take Wanda back. I’ll meet you there. How about that?”

“Yeah…Yeah, I’d like that.” It’s a little too breathless but it means what it does.

Pietro presses a kiss under Bucky’s jaw line. “See you there.”

He extirpates himself from their half embrace and Bucky feels so cold. He shouldn’t feel this cold. He was fine a minute ago.

He looks away from Pietro. He doesn’t watch him find Wanda and find an excuse to head home. He has to find his own excuse now. It’s pretty late. He can just say he’s tired. He can say he’s bored, and the party sucked, and Natasha has terrible ideas. Whatever. She’s heard it all before. He’ll explain in the morning.

He goes to retrieve his coat from the guest room in what he thinks will be a quick in and out sort of mission. But Steve stops him as he gets his hand on the doorknob. He turns around sharply and faces him.

“Sorry, were you trying to get past?” he says innocently. Has Steve seen him with Pietro? Has he been watching Bucky this whole time?

Steve lets go. He lets Bucky turn the knob and get in the room. He follows in closely. Bucky hopes to god that Pietro isn’t watching them because that would ruin it for the second time and he really needs to get laid. Especially with someone like Pietro.

“Everything ok?” Bucky pushes. He doesn’t particularly want to do this but he’ll have this at least make sense. 

“What are you doing, Buck?” Steve says and his voice is low.

“Going home. Why? Want to come with? Your place isn’t exactly on my way. Where does Sharon live?” It’s a low blow but whatever. Steve is the one with a girlfriend here.

Steve shakes his head. Bucky goes on, “You’ve been watching me, pal? Maybe Sharon will let you off the hook for the wedding tie but stalking your ex is creepy by anyone’s standard.”

“I thought you broke up,” he says like it hurts him, “is this…Are you…”

“Gonna have to use more specific words here if you want me to understand anything.”

Steve doesn’t look at him. He puts a hand on Bucky’s right arm, the other tight in a fist by his own thigh. “You weren’t the only one feeling insecure when we were married. First thing I learn, after months without knowing anything about you or what’s going on in your life is…That he did do it in the end. He got you.”

Well, doesn’t that take the cake in the entitlement world championship. “Oh, you learned that I was fucking my colleague’s brother and you got pissed? Imagine learning that your husband didn’t only cheat on you, but he also is continuing his little affair after you got divorced. Because, let me tell you, that sucks ass and not in a good way.”

Steve’s nostrils flare. His grip on Bucky tightens. “I didn’t cheat on you, Bucky.”

“Not that again, I swear to god,” Bucky whines, “Steve, listen to me. We loved each other. We really did. But we’re done. It’s going to be two years next year. Imagine that. We’re going have spent more time divorced than married. You’ve got a girlfriend. That you like. Let me go. You can’t do this anymore."

“Have you let me go? You’re the one that almost kissed me last week!” Steve is furious. Bucky hates him.

“Yeah and guess what!” Bucky almost yells. He doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. “I didn’t! Because I’m moving on. What did you tell your girlfriend just then? Huh? Did you tell her you were just going to make sure I wouldn’t go home with Pietro for what reason exactly? My safety?”

Steve looks away again. Idiot. Bastard.

“You didn’t say anything, did you? You just took off and left her there. You’re an asshole, Steve. Now, let go.” Bucky shakes his arm still in Steve’s hand and he obeys. Bucky finds his thick woolen peacoat and shrugs it on. “Since you’re so intent on my whereabouts, you can let Natasha know I’ve left. She’ll love that. Goodnight.”

Steve doesn’t look at him as Bucky leaves and it’s really for the best. Now, Bucky is pissed off too. He can’t keep doing this. Maybe it was better when they didn’t even talk. Maybe that’s what Bucky needs again. To be free of Steve in his life. Maybe they can’t really do this. The divorced pals thing. Maybe Nat was right.

He shakes off as much anger and devastation as he can as he hops in a taxi outside. He could walk the couple of blocks to his own condo but it’s freezing, and he is rich now.

When the taxi arrives, he sees Pietro on his steps and feels his heart skip a beat. That’s familiar too. Maybe Bucky needs to stop reinvestigating old flames once and for all.


	13. Situation Unchanged, Still Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Like I was your guilty pleasure. Which pissed me off, too. I thought I was like a dirty secret. I knew you liked me, but you never let yourself enjoy it because you were so concerned about…I don’t even know. What people would say, I guess? But I think it was because you don’t do many things just because you want to.”
> 
> Bucky grips his mug a little tighter. “You really think that about me? That I’m what, just so much of a pushover and that’s why I’m so indecisive?”
> 
> “No, the opposite, actually. You know what you want, you just hold back because you never put yourself first. You care for everyone around you, all the time. Probably the reason why you’re such a good leader. But then, at the end of the day, who looks after you? You don’t let anyone do that.”

It takes Bucky a while to become fully awake. There’s a weight on his chest that he can’t pinpoint to anything. Then, he remembers. Must be Pietro’s arm. He curls his arm toward himself and finds a hand. Definitely Pietro’s. So, he stayed the night. Bucky blinks a couple of times. The sun isn’t particularly high but it’s there and for the middle of December, it must mean it’s pretty late. Pietro isn’t snoring, because he never does, but he’s warm and very still, so he’s asleep. Pietro stayed the whole night, threw an arm around Bucky, and passed out, basically. That’s almost painfully familiar.

But they don’t do that anymore. Bucky can’t settle in the domesticity. They had a great night together, they really did but Bucky couldn’t bear to see that look on Pietro’s face again, that betrayed, furious and so bitterly disappointed look. He slides off the bed as gently as he can. The least he can do is offer Pietro some coffee.

First stop, though, definitely the bathroom. He can feel the dried-up lube on his ass cheeks. He must have just dropped dead asleep as soon as they were done. He is so very old, Pietro was right all along.

By the time he’s got the coffee machine on, Pietro emerges from the bedroom. He’s only wearing boxers, his hair is a little mused, but still looking perfectly styled. The only traces of last night activities are the bags under his eyes, but even that looks intentional. Pietro is like a unshakable prototype of sexiness, always rugged, just so. Bucky swallows, handing him a cup.

“Hey,” he greets, clearing his throat, “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Pietro shrugs. “Bed was cold. I have like a sixth sense for you slipping out in the morning. It’s not the noise though.”

Bucky lowers his head, not meeting his eyes. It’s odd in a way, to remember their relationship like that. It’s been over six months, but it feels like so much longer. Bucky has no one to reminisce with about it, it’s nothing like his relationship with Steve. What he and Pietro had, it’s gone and there’s no keepsake. He had never felt that grief until now. It almost chokes him with its intensity.

“Yeah, sorry,” is all he can mumble.

Pietro walks over to where he’s leaning on the kitchen counter. Bucky is just in a thin t-shirt and cotton shorts, but he feels just as exposed as Pietro is. Pietro puts a hand on Bucky stomach and follows the curve of the muscles there until he finds Bucky’s hip and rests his hand there. He doesn’t grab on or hold, just leaves it there. Bucky’s breath evens. Pietro smiles.

“Good morning,” he says gently.

“Morning,” Bucky rasps back.

Pietro kisses his cheek. He rests his face there and inhales. Bucky pushes him away. “Are you sniffing me?” he asks, a grin growing on his lips.

“You smell good, can’t help myself.” He nuzzles his face behind Bucky’s ear. “Soap and coffee. The best.”

Bucky smiles wide. “Uh, huh,” he hums, “this is how I get all the boys in my yard. Basic hygiene and espressos.”

Pietro has a little laugh and pulls away. He takes the cup from the counter and sips, not taking his eyes off Bucky. Bucky tries his best not to melt under the attention. But then Pietro rubs at his pulse point on his neck, with so much gentleness, it’s hard to focus on anything but the piercing eyes on him.

“I, uh, I made some granola too. And yoghurt. There’s…Berries. If you want.”

“Don’t I feel special. Is it fat free?”

“Course, I haven’t forgotten all about macros.”

Pietro kisses Bucky’s cheek again. “Thanks, baby. Let me put some clothes on first.”

Bucky perks up at the name. At this point, he’s pretty sure Pietro calls anyone baby. He’s heard him say it to a good five other people. He said it last night, sure, but anything goes when you’re drunk and fucking your almost ex, really, doesn’t it, so it didn’t mean anything. But now? Now, Bucky needs to chill.

He puts the yoghurt and the granola in a bowl, sprinkles blueberries on top and mixes. He sets it down on the kitchen island, by his left, so they won’t be facing. He blows out a long breath. How many times has he had breakfast with Pietro in the morning? This is not that different. He can be cool.

Pietro reappears with his jeans and t-shirt from last night and sits down on the stool. He thanks Bucky for his little preparation. Bucky decidedly does not flush.

“How are you anyway?” Pietro asks, digging his spoon in the bowl.

“I’m good. Getting there. Work is kicking my ass, though, badly. I love it but it’s really tough.”

They fall into an easy conversation. Bucky has missed this. How supportive and fully there Pietro always is. How he checks in or whatever Natasha would call it. And the way he tells a story. There are much worse ways to spend a morning.

Pietro pokes at Bucky’s hand with his index. “How are you really, though? Not just your job or whatever. How are you?”

Bucky frowns. “I’m good, I told you. Is this about…,” Bucky almost says it but then he realizes he’s not about to the one to bring up Steve and Sharon unprompted.

“Doesn’t have to be about Steve,” Pietro replies, shaking his head, “I mean you. I know you pretty well, now, I’d say. I know you keep all of your shit locked too tight. So, I’m asking. How are you?”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky mumbles, his brows furrowing.

“I’m just saying, when’s the last time you did something just for you?” Pietro asks around a mouthful of yoghurt and berries. “When we were…Whatever we were, I used to think, you wouldn’t fully be in the moment because you weren’t over Steve or some bullshit like that, but nowadays, I just think you felt so guilty.”

“Guilty?” Bucky repeats stupidly. “What do you mean, guilty?”

Pietro shrugs, sipping his coffee. Bucky tracks all his movements impatiently.

“Like I was your guilty pleasure. Which pissed me off, too. I thought I was like a dirty secret. I knew you liked me, but you never let yourself enjoy it because you were so concerned about…I don’t even know. What people would say, I guess? But I think it was because you don’t do many things just because you want to.”

Bucky grips his mug a little tighter. “You really think that about me? That I’m what, just so much of a pushover and that’s why I’m so indecisive?”

“No, the opposite, actually. You know what you want, you just hold back because you never put yourself first. You care for everyone around you, all the time. Probably the reason why you’re such a good leader. But then, at the end of the day, who looks after you? You don’t let anyone do that.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You wanted to do that, for me? Way back when?”

Pietro avoids his eyes, digging around his yoghurt bowl. “I would have if you had let me. I mean, we were good friends too, right? All your shit, the nightmares, the divorce, whatever…I wanted to be there for you, but you shove it all down as fast as you can. Then, you act as if nothing is happening or you run away. You kept pushing me away.” He shrugs again. “We were never going to be right and I should have known this, but my point still stands. You deserve to care for yourself too. That’s all.”

“Huh,” is all Bucky finds to answer to that.

“Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No, uh, thank you, Pietro. You didn’t have to…I mean, Jesus, after all the things I put you through. You could have the decency to hate me a little,” he says with a smirk.

Pietro smiles back. “I did hate you for a while. Then, I figured I had better things to worry about. Our timing was wrong, but I don’t regret it.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky admits out loud, probably for the first time ever.

They settle in a silence for a minute or so, eating in front of each other. It’s not awkward at all, in the end, and Bucky is so glad. He’s missed Pietro’s friendship. There’s no reason for them not to remain friends. Bucky looks at him behind his mug, taking another sip.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” Bucky starts.

Pietro meets his eyes and grins. “See now, what did I say about getting any ideas?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m not saying let’s do that again, but we can, you know, hang out. If you want to. As friends. I’d like that.”

Pietro nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that too. You’re hard to forget, you know that, Bucky Barnes?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing another spoonful of granola. It’s a little stupid, to be this flustered by his own name, but it’s always worked on him.

Pietro finishes his bowl and drains his coffee cup before he’s on his feet again. Bucky stands up too, hopefully not too clumsily. They stand like this for a second before Pietro smiles again, something of a smirk on his pale lips. His tongue darts out as he wets his bottom lip. Bucky can’t help staring. Platonically. He doesn’t know if Pietro will kiss him goodbye. He doesn’t know with certainty if he wants it or not. He wouldn’t reject it, but does he want to? Pietro only wraps a hand around his neck and squeezes.

“Have a Merry Christmas, Bucky,” Pietro says quietly.

Bucky closes his eyes. He can feel Pietro’s breath on his lips. “You too.”

And then, he’s gone. Bucky wonders whether, if he had been a better man, he could have had Pietro like this, forever. Open and bright, so bright. Contented. But what once was is definitely gone. He’s so grateful that the last night they had together was like this, something so unbelievably good and so obviously a goodbye at the same time. Pietro gave him that and Bucky hopes he received just as much.

*****

Bucky isn’t completely oblivious. He’s known ever since he was recovered from Afghanistan and discharged from the army that he should talk about what he went through, but his one argument had always been, what can you talk about, when you don’t remember anything? And, if he was already haunted by sounds, smells and foreign tastes, wouldn’t it only get worse and worse? He was so young at the time, he had wanted to live a normal life. Go to college, live with Steve, marry Steve…If he had gone to uncover whatever shit had happened to him in a life that almost felt like it wasn’t his own, wouldn’t that have torn everything to pieces? Turns out, he hadn’t even needed that for his life to fall apart.

So, now, he can see that it’s probably time to sit down and look at it. And so, he does. Or he tries. First, he goes to the VA where Sam works, right by Vinegar Hill and hopes for the best.

He manages to catch Sam during his lunch break, and they go for a walk around the park nearby, once they grabbed sandwiches from the deli Sam starts to rave about.

“I just thought that there’d be a prescription date on that sort of shit. Like after fifteen years, if you made it that far, it just erases itself from your memory,” Bucky says after they sat down on a bench.

Sam chews on his tuna mayo thoughtfully. “It never goes away, man. You can move forward, sure, but it’s always there. The less you deal with it, the bigger it becomes. It’s like grief in a way, you have to ride the waves rather than let them swallow you up.”

“Wow,” Bucky says with a smirk, “that was almost poetic of you, Wilson.”

“You came to me at work. You get work Sam. You deal with that.”

Bucky snort around his own sandwich. It’s easier than he thought he would be, to ask for help. Maybe it’s because he’s known Sam since they were eighteen, stupid grunts dreaming of a new, better life they could build for themselves. Maybe it’s because Sam has never looked at him and thought of who he was before the war, before the nightmares, before the crippling anxiety.

When they start making their way back to the VA, Bucky asks Sam, “just don’t tell Steve I came today, alright? He doesn’t need to know.”

“I’m not going to be your mistress, Barnes,” Sam says, shaking his head, “Jesus. This isn’t high school. I’m setting you up with a therapist, not taking you out on a date.”

“I know. It’s just…It’s been weird, alright, between us, since that stupid cheese party. And you know how he gets. He doesn’t need to know everything.”

Sam sighs, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“No, I’m not getting into that. You talk to him, or don’t. I want no involvement in that mess between you two anymore. I’m drawing the thickest line in the sand, is that clear? No drama for me.”

Bucky frowns. “Hey, do you know about the, um, cheese party?”

“What did I just say!” Sam grumbles, “but just know I have never been gladder to have avoided a Natasha party.”

Bucky smiles. “No one needs to try that many types of cheese in one evening, I’m telling you.”

Sam opens his arms for him, and Bucky squeezes him by the shoulders. Sam clasps his back twice before letting go. “I’ll see in January then. Don’t miss your appointment.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Wilson,” Bucky assures as he walks away.

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Sam calls out before the door closes behind him.

*****

Bucky waits for Steve to show up at his office again, because apparently that’s what they do when they fight these days, but it doesn’t happen. Christmas is almost upon them and Bucky can’t push back inviting Steve any longer. His mom would have his head. He’s not going to sit through his youngest sister’s passive aggressive comments about Steve two years in a row either. So, he’s the one who asks Steve over.

Steve shows up an hour later with fried chicken burgers and beers. There are worse peace offerings. When Bucky opens the door for him, they don’t hug. Bucky directs him to the kitchen then flops back down on the couch, furrowing in by the many pillows and throws.

Steve comes back out and hands Bucky a cold beer. They crack it open at the same time. Bucky grins.

“Been a while, Rogers. How you’ve been keeping?”

Steve nods, fiddling with the opener before putting it down on the coffee table. He circles around it, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Bucky watches patiently.

“Listen, Buck,” he starts, “I’m sorry about Natasha’s party. I acted like a dick. It really wasn’t my place and none of my business.”

Bucky finds that the atmosphere is suddenly so much heavier. He hates it. “It’s ok, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sharon broke up with me,” he declares like that’s just been on the news lately. Oh, haven’t you heard? Winter is early this year, snowing already.

“What the fuck? Why?” Bucky blurts out.

“Don’t be so surprised,” Steve goes on, lifting Bucky’s extended leg so he can sit underneath. The gesture is so casual, so relaxed, that something unfurls in Bucky’s chest and he takes a deep breath like he hasn’t in a while. “It was never going to work out.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bucky puts his other leg in Steve’s lap. Steve wraps his hands around Bucky’s ankle and strokes lightly.

“Did she do it after the party? Was it because of…,” he stops then, not wanting to be too presumptuous. Maybe Steve only still sucks at maintaining adult relationships.

Steve sighs. “Yeah, a day or so after. She said that she didn’t want to waste time committing to someone that wasn’t fully available.”

“Man, that sucks. I’m sorry, Steve.”

Steve pats his shin. “It was a mistake, to date her. It was mistake to date at work, again. I don’t know why I thought that’d be even close to a good idea.”

Bucky smirks. “Yeah, you and your HR papers. And her last name was Carter. What are the odds?”

Steve looks back at Bucky and smiles back. “It was really not meant to be, huh?”

“Guess not,” Bucky agrees. Is it wrong that he’s a little happy about it? He would have gotten used to Steve and Sharon. He would have at least tried. There was nothing wrong with Sharon, she was a clean slate. Maybe they could have made it. Bucky feels about an ounce of guilt for his relief and decides that it’s good enough for today.

He sits up and puts the beer bottle down. Steve has got each of his hand on either of Bucky’s legs, rubbing careless circles with his thumbs.

“Come for Christmas, to my ma’s,” Bucky says, linking his hands together and placing them behind his head, “we even have Becca and the baby this year, so it’ll be extra Christmassy. Beth would love it too.”

Steve raises his eyebrows before he winces. “To Shelbyville? Are you sure?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like it’d be the first time.”

“Where would I even sleep?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “We had plenty of sleepovers before. We can sleep in the same bed and not fuck, Steve. What are we, sixteen?”

Steve stares at him blankly. Bucky sighs.

“Fine. I promise to keep it in my pants. Scout’s honor.”

Steve smirks. “You really want me to spend Christmas with you? Even after everything?”

“Yeah. Of course. We’d only stay for the weekend anyway. And I’d get an extra present out of it, so I see no downside to this.”

Steve nods, looking away from Bucky. “Ok. Sure, then, yeah, I’ll let Winnie know. Are you sure about the bed thing though? I could just take the couch.”

“That couch is older than we are. We don’t…We’re friends now, right? That’s what friends do. No one is going to think twice about this.”

Steve shrugs. “If you say so.”

Bucky is almost sure that Elisabeth is over her Parent Trap-ing phase. Alice would not give two shits, that’s for sure. His ma, though, she might have all these ideas…But Becca would be in his corner, definitely.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Who knows, we might even have fun.”

Steve laughs. “At Christmas, Buck? Now that’ll be the day.”

*****

Now, maybe, just maybe, Bucky had overestimated how much in his corner Becca would be. Because Becca is a mom now, a suburban mom at that, who has a dentist husband and drives a Subaru. So, obviously she’d have opinions.

“It’s not that he’s coming that I’m having problems with,” she assures him when her and her picture-perfect family pick him up on the way to Newark.

Bucky groans. “It’s just one weekend in goddamn Indiana. What do you think is going to happen? Steve is going to spike the eggnog with love potions?”

She turns around in her seat to glare at him. “If you could stop swearing around Scott. He’s picking up words now.”

Bucky looks at the asleep baby in his car seat by his left. “Oh yeah, even like that?” he asks, jerking his thumb towards Scott.

“Just a warning,” she goes on, “anyway. I just don’t know if that’s good for either of you. There are so many unresolved issues between you. Christmas is stressful enough.”

“You don’t have to worry about me making a scene,” he assures mildly, “can you stop with the lecturing already? Ma is going to take care of that plenty already.”

“Also, we’re here, so…,” Mark cuts in gently when they’re by Steve’s building.

Bucky grunts his acknowledgement and pulls out his phone to let Steve know they’re parked outside. They sit in tense silence until a blond head pops up by Becca’s window. She squeals and unbuckles her seat belt to jump on Steve. Hypocrite.

Steve hugs her and they exchange the usual pleasantries. Bucky is staying stubbornly put. Steve shakes hands with Mark, Becca sits back down. Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. He realizes, a second too late, that he’s going to have to move anyway, because he’s the one that has to sit in the middle. He sighs and unbuckles himself.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Buck,” Steve says mildly, sitting down after putting his things in the trunk, “you’re really feeling the Christmas spirit this year.”

Bucky, who can already feel the baby’s seat dig right into his ribs, groans again. Steve pokes his other side like an asshole and laughs.

*****

Bucky still hates travelling during the holidays. Travelling with a grumpy one-and-a-half-year-old? A hundred times worse. Travelling with a toddler, a judgmental little sister, and his ex-husband? Well, now, that’s what nightmares are made of.

Once they finally get to Shelbyville and Bucky sees his ma and other two sisters on the porch, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Winnifred jumps on the baby as soon as Becca frees him from the hundreds of buckles of the car seat. “Oh my, look at this little angel. Is this my grandson? Hello! Hello!” she coos.

Bucky sidesteps around them and holds out his arms for Alice, then Elisabeth. “Never thought I’d be glad to have flown with the baby,” he mutters once he lets both of them go.

Alice snickers. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely dodging all the questioning now that there’s a baby in the house. Can’t wait to get drunk and having no one ask me whether or not that’s why I can’t keep a man.”

Winnifred turns to them and scowls. Bucky snorts. Behind him, carrying all the luggage like the world’s best son-in-law, trails Steve. Elisabeth is the first to collide into him like she hasn’t seen him for a thousand years. Bucky rolls his eyes. Alice pokes him and giggles.

“Jealous, much?”

“I’ve known he’s her favorite since I was sixteen, so I’m alright.”

Winnifred puts the baby back in the bucket shaped carrier and starts trembling. More theatrics, great. Bucky, who had to wake up at 5AM to catch the flight and hasn’t slept since the night before, really only wants to get into bed.

“Oh, Stevie, my darling,” Winnifred starts, wrapping her arms around his waist tightly, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You’re so big! What do they feed you in New York? Oh my, you should put Jaime on your diet. Look at him, he’s so skinny.”

“Ma,” Bucky groans.

She lets go of Steve to pinch at Bucky’s cheek. “I’m so glad both my sons are here now. Thank you, Jaime, really.”

Steve beams at him. Bucky sighs, trying his best to ignore the sudden warmth beneath his chest, and turns his heels, grabbing his bag and making his way inside. This is going to be a long weekend, he can already tell.

*****

Christmas Eve is spent quietly. Once Bucky starts to settle in, his mood brightens, if just a bit. Most of the attention is on the baby and Bucky can just focus on sipping the eggnog that Alice made, using more bourbon than milk. They play games, watch some movies. Bucky can almost forget that tonight, for the first time in months, he’s sleeping in the same bed as Steve. He’s being an adult about it, though. It isn’t a big deal. So far, blessed be the gods, no one has commented on it. It is decidedly _fine_.

When everyone starts to retire for the evening, Bucky goes up the stairs to his room first. Steve stays downstairs, playing the switch with Elisabeth. Bucky unpacks, fidgets with the covers and the pillows. He inspects his side. It’s just a bed. They can share a bed. Bucky breathes in and out slowly as he hears Steve’s heavy steps on the stairs.

The weirdest thing is probably that this is as much as his room as it’s Steve’s and that he moves around in the space like he always has. Like he belongs there. He probably does. Bucky can’t deny him the only family he’s ever known, besides his own mother. They have spent every Christmas together since they were ten years old, when Sarah had finally accepted to spend the day in the Barnes’ living room instead of hers. It’s bad enough that he banished Steve to the Wilsons last Christmas.

Steve changes into his pajamas in the bathroom. Bucky doesn’t comment. It’s probably for the best. Bucky goes in after him and brushes his teeth. He takes as long as can possibly excuse before he goes back in the room.

Steve is already laying down on the bed, with reading glasses on. Since when does Steve wear reading glasses? He’s got a book open on his stomach, on top of the covers. It’s ridiculous. Bucky has never thought he’d see something so insane. Steve, in flannel pajamas, black rimmed glasses on his nose, in Winnifred’s house, on Christmas Eve. But that’s his life now, he’s heard.

“Hey,” Bucky says, more to give a warning than anything before he flings the duvet off and slips into bed.

“Hey,” Steve replies, not taking his eyes off his book.

Bucky is not going to ask about the glasses. This is not something they’ll discuss while in bed together. While in bed platonically together. Bucky swallows, then clears his throat. “You want the lights on?”

Steve shakes his head and turns the lamp off. He sets down the book and the glasses by his side. Bucky doesn’t comment on the fact that Steve picked the side he was always on when they were married. He lays down on his back, trying to relax his body enough so he can sleep. He closes his eyes, then opens them again. Steve is just as still. Bucky clears his throat.

“I’m going to go to therapy,” Bucky says quietly to the ceiling before he can even think about forming the words.

Bucky hears Steve shifts more than he sees him. The covers rustle until he settles on his side. “Yeah? That’s good, Buck.”

“Please don’t say I need it. I know I do but it’s just…”

“I’m just proud of you,” Steve cuts gently.

“Are you? I’m a wreck. I don’t know how you keep being so nice to me when I just break your heart over and over again.”

Steve brushes his knuckles on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s the left one, where he got shot more than once. Bucky shivers but stays still.

“Please don’t say at least I’m your wreck, because there’s no going back from being that cheesy,” Bucky mutters.

Steve laughs, withdrawing his hand. Bucky almost wants to grab it and hold it there but it’s probably weird enough that they’re sleeping in the same bed, on Christmas night.

“You’re not a wreck,” Steve continues, shifting again, rolling on his other side, facing away from Bucky, “you have issues, that’s true enough. More issues than the average person, sure. Doesn’t mean you have to close business and become a recluse, you know? And you’re trying. That’s what matters.”

Bucky swallows. What matters. He doesn’t know if that counts for anything, what matters.

“Do you think…,” Bucky starts but can’t finish.

“What?” Steve says around a yawn.

“It’s stupid.”

“Just say it, Buck, I don’t mind.”

“I’ll let you sleep.”

Steve rolls over again. Bucky can sort of make out that he’s smiling and that his eyes are open. He turns on his side too. Maybe they’re a little too close but whatever, it’s Christmas, they can get away with it.

“Pietro said something to me. Is it weird if I tell you?”

“You can tell me anything,” Steve assures. Bucky thinks he closed his eyes, but he can’t be sure.

“Do you remember, back when we were married, did I look after myself?”

“What, physically? You always looked great to me.”

“No, you dick,” Bucky says, “I meant like mentally. Like doing things for myself. Pietro said that I never do that. I just put everyone’s needs before mine and then when I have to figure out what I want, I’m lost, because it’s just so foreign to me, to-to know that.”

Steve huffs out an angry breath. “Didn’t know you had that sort of relationship with Pietro.”

“Do you have to be a jealous asshole right now?” Bucky asks sharply. He pauses. He doesn’t have to be a dick about it either. He takes another breath. “We didn’t just fuck. We were friends. He cares about me.” Another silence that’s too weird for two people lying by each other so closely. “Can you just tell me? Please?”

“Are you going to therapy because _Pietro_ told you needed to?” Steve asks, spitting out Pietro’s name like it’s a slur on his delicate tongue.

“Jesus Christ, really?”

“But _I_ can’t say it, is that it?”

“Steve, I told you it was a stupid question. You don’t have to answer me. Whatever.”

He rolls onto his back again, letting his arm fall on top of his face and hiding his eyes. Steve doesn’t move.

“Are you seeing him again?”

“No,” Bucky answers straight away. He runs his hand on his face before dropping his arm on his side. “We’re friends, though. He’s a good guy. I really hurt him, but he just wanted…He looks out for me, you know? In his own way.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you had someone like him, Buck. I’m sorry I said that.”

“Can you tell me, then? Am I just too good at taking care of everyone that I can’t do it for myself?”

Steve puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and this time, his fingers press in, squeezing lightly. Bucky turns to look at him. He wants nothing more to kiss Steve then. But where will that go? He won’t be able to hide that to his family and that would definitely spoil the Christmas spirit.

Steve rubs carefully circles onto Bucky’s skin as he speaks. “That’s one of the things I loved the most about you, you know that? Your kindness, how selfless you always are. Between the girls and me, whatever friend you had at any point…You’d always check on everyone and you’d care, actually care.”

Bucky wraps his hand over Steve’s wrist and holds on.

“When we came back from Afghanistan and you were…Bucky, I had no idea what to do. We were so young, and I loved you so damn much, but I had no idea how to handle you or me or anything. You were always the one who took care of things. I thought I’d follow your lead and eventually, we’d figure it out. I was so stupid. I really was. The one time you needed me, I couldn’t do it.”

“You weren’t a burden to me. I was, though. And I just ran off every time you tried to help…”

“No,” Steve interrupts, squeezing tighter, “don’t say that. If I made you feel like that, then it’s on me. God, Bucky, I really fucked everything up with you…”

Bucky lets the words hang in the air. Steve’s hand glides down to his chest and he holds on to his t-shirt. “Come here, Buck,” he urges. There’s desperation in his voice. Bucky can’t do anything but grant him that. He scoots into Steve’s open arms. He hides his face into his neck and breathes in deep. Steve strokes his head.

“Do you know I love you?” Steve asks, almost a whisper into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky stops breathing, if only for a second. He nods but ends up rubbing his whole face into Steve’s shoulder.

“No matter what, I’ll always love you. I’ve loved you all my life, Buck. I never stopped. Nothing you ever did made me love you any less. Maybe you’ve done things I didn’t like, and I managed to hate you for a while but no matter how much you pissed me off, or how badly you broke my heart, I could never stop loving you.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, too quiet. Maybe he can’t hear him.

“Please, never think that I was with you out of…out of…I don’t even know why you think I stayed by you. Do you think it was duty? Because it wasn’t. Not for one second.”

Bucky grips onto his waist with strength. He digs all of his fingers in. If only Steve could shut up. Bucky closes his eyes and just focuses on breathing. Inhale, exhale. Steve holds on tighter. He kisses Bucky’s hairline and leaves his lips pressed there, like he’s trying to imprint himself on Bucky.

“Let’s just sleep, ok?” Bucky asks.

Bucky can feel Steve’s throat click by his cheek. He doesn’t let go so Bucky doesn’t either. Their stomach push against each other as they breathe in and out. It’s like rocked to sleep, in a way. It doesn’t take Bucky long to pass out from the exhaustion of the day.

*****

The next morning, Christmas Day, Bucky isn’t woken up by his alarm but by a quiet voice by the door. He opens one eye then the other and slowly registers that he’s got an arm around Steve’s waist and one of Steve’s legs between his own. He raises his head to see where the noise came from but it’s too late, Alice barges in without a warning.

“Oh hello, cuddly bear,” she greets warmly.

“The fuck?” is the best Bucky can manage, “can’t you knock?”

Steve stirs under his fingers but burrows deeper into the pillows. How is he still asleep when his favorite thing is to wake up Bucky before the sunrise? Bucky groans and settles back behind Steve’s shoulder blades.

“And Merry Christmas to you too,” Alice goes on.

“The fuck do you want?”

“No one else has got an iPhone, my charger doesn’t work. Can I borrow yours?”

“You can fuck off,” Bucky mumbles, his voice muffled by Steve’s back.

“I’m borrowing it,” she announces as Bucky hears his phone being unplugged, “don’t mind me. Enjoy your post-divorce snuggling. Looks extremely platonic.”

Bucky finds a pillow to throw in her general direction. His aim is off, he can tell by Alice’s cackle as she closes the door behind herself. Christmas can wait because he’s never moving ever again.

*****

When Bucky finally finds the strength to walk over to the kitchen, it’s only 10:20, so it’s not like he actually slept in. Steve is already out jogging, because he never takes a break apparently and also, most likely, to avoid Bucky’s family and their prying eyes.

When Bucky is met by Winnifred and Becca and their overly concerned faces, he really regrets not having gone on a run too.

“No,” he warns with a pointed finger as he gets a mug from the cupboard, “don’t you have a baby to look after?” he asks Becca, “and don’t you have, I don’t know, a million other things to do? I’m a grown up. So is Steve.”

“Of course, Jaime,” Winnifred says immediately.

“We just want what’s best for you,” Becca adds.

“Is this an intervention? I’m not a drug addict. I knew Alice would do this. Can’t believe I’m surrounded by snitches.”

Becca snorts into her own mug of hot chocolate and Winnifred shoots her an angry look. Bucky sits down by the breakfast nook on the side and starts cutting the bread loaf in front of him. It only takes them half a second before they are sitting in front of him, like the world’s softest interrogators.

“You know this is why he’s not here? He’s leaving me to be eaten by the wolves. Alone. How about you get up all in his business about that when he comes back.”

“It’s Christmas, honey,” Winnifred says gently, “I’m so happy to have all of you here.”

Bucky hums, spreading jam on the thick bread.

“It must be so tough to have him around like that,” Becca continues, like they prepared their speech in advance, “all the memories…”

“I’m being serious here when I say I’m not talking about this with you. We’re not kids anymore. You’re my little sister. You’re my mother. This isn’t your place. Nothing is happening with me and Steve other than…Close friendship. Take my word for it and _let it go_.”

Becca purses her lips, but Winnifred puts her hand over hers and she shuts her trap. “You’re right, baby, we’re sorry.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry I’m being so shitty. Merry Christmas. I love being here too. Just, lay off, alright?” They both nod. Winnifred rubs her thumb on his hand. Bucky finally smiles. “I know you both care. We’re working it out. It’s all good.”

Winnifred smiles back then looks like she just remembered something, jumps to her feet and carries over a plate filled with Christmas cookies. “Oh, dear, I almost forgot! Merry Christmas, my darling.”

“Thanks, ma,” he says, cramming a couple into his mouth. It tastes like his childhood, like his best memories and like the sweetest sugar.

*****

After Steve comes back and they start opening the presents, things settle down. The baby is obviously the most invested in the whole ordeal but it is a lot nicer to see Christmas through his eyes. They take about a thousand of pictures. They eat for what feels like hours. They all settle in the living room with a cheesy Christmas Hallmark movie around 4.

Bucky extends his legs on the coffee table and rubs at his belly. “Anyone else feels like hot chocolate?” He asks the room.

“Will you make it?” Alice asks, cuddled up by his side. She rubs her cheek on his shoulder, her warm blue eyes all wide and cute. This used to work when she was seven and he was fourteen and goddamn her, it still does now.

“Yeah, alright.”

“I’ll help,” Steve offers. He’s sitting at the complete opposite of Bucky, on an armchair, his new sketchpad that Beth got him in his lap. Bucky doesn’t need to look at the page to know he’s been drawing him, Alice and Beth, hugging under the ugliest crocheted blanket he’s ever seen.

Bucky raises an eyebrow but nods and gets up. They work in silence, Bucky chopping the chocolate bar and Steve setting up the mugs and marshmallows.

“You told me what you liked the most about me,” Bucky starts. He sounds so shy. He clears his throat, hoping his voice will get steadier. “You know what I liked the most about you?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. Maybe Bucky is being weird, maybe it’s all so deeply inappropriate. But there’s a small part of him that hopes it’s not. That Steve wants to hear it as much as Bucky wants to say it.

“When we were kids, I used to get so lost in my own head. It was like everything was so loud, all the time. And then, there were the girls that were always screaming and jumping up and down. Remember where we lived in Brooklyn? I mean, me and Becs’ room was a closet, right? But if I just walked the three blocks, climbed on the fire escape up to your window, there were never any noise there.”

Steve rubs a hand on his face and leaves it by his mouth. Bucky can still tell he’s smiling.

“I could take my comics and read it by your bed on the floor, and you’d draw me, or the room, or whatever. We didn’t have to talk. We didn’t have to do anything, we could just sit, side by side and just exist like that. I loved that so much. You didn’t want to play music or watch TV. You wanted the quiet as much as me. You were like my safe haven, you know? When it would get too much, I could just go to you, anytime at all and you’d be there for me.”

“I liked that a lot too,” Steve says, his voice soft and calm.

“After the war, after I came back, I really wanted that again. But somehow, wherever we lived, I could never find that quiet. I don’t know why. Everything was so loud, all the time. It drove me nuts. That’s why I’d leave. I would just walk and walk until I’d find a spot, just a place to sit down and hear nothing. I never told you. I don’t know if I realized why I was doing it either, at the time.”

Steve leans against the counter, crosses his arms and drops his head down. “I wish I could have given you that. I wish I had known how.”

“It wasn’t up to you,” Bucky assures him, reaching blindly for his bicep. He finds it and squeezes lightly. “I didn’t know about half the things that were going on with me. Still don’t. But I want to, now. I’m going to get better.”

“I know you will. I’m glad you’re doing it too. I really want you to be happy.”

They look at each other, then and smile. Bucky feels warm all over. “Thank you, Steve.”

*****

Bucky calls Natasha and Clint in the evening. They don’t even ask about Steve, which is a nice change. Once night comes, he’s too tired to obsess over the bed situation. They fall into their sides and if they get closer and closer until they wake up all tangled, there are no witnesses this time.

Him and Steve get the early flight back to New York, while Becca and Mark stay behind with the baby, Alice and Elisabeth. They get Tupperware on Tupperware boxes of cookies and various leftover to bring back. It almost feels like any other Christmas, except they’re still divorced. Bucky had never believed they’d manage to be in such a good place, in the end, just standing together, not romantically attached.

Once they get back to Newark, Bucky can’t help staring at Steve’s profile. He’s got his duffle bag on his shoulder, holding tight on the strap, a coffee in his other hand. He frowns, crumpling the face that Bucky must have spent days kissing, if they were to put the time together. He smiles. Steve automatically smiles back, even though he has no idea why.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, shrugging, “you’ve got a stupid face is all.”

Steve smirks. “I’ve heard your mom call me her handsome boy before we left, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, it is a face only a mother could love.”

Steve punches his shoulder and Bucky snickers.

*****

Therapy isn’t as overwhelming as Bucky thought it’d be. It’s not anything like when he went with Steve. His new therapist, Dr. Claire Temple, has a soft voice and kind eyes. She tells him to call her Claire when they first meet and asks if she may call him Bucky. It’s nothing like Dr. Kaplan and her tight bun and her slim glasses. Bucky doesn’t feel like he’s being looked at from under a microscope either, which helps.

She explains the same things that Steve’s therapist explained when he first went. The first two sessions are spent skimming the surface. Bucky gets so much homework. He starts to hate it all over again, but he hangs on to it, mostly because Natasha threatens him, and Sam makes him continue for at least a month. It sucks being cared for so much.

Claire doesn’t push on the being taken prisoner for a full year and not remembering it in details front. She does push on other annoying issues, like why does he think he’s not worthy of love. Which he doesn’t. He just thinks love might be best spent elsewhere. It feels like being pestered by his sisters sometimes.

“So,” she starts again in their fourth session, “if the roles were reversed, if it had been Steve falling from the train and then you finding him again, you wouldn’t have stood by him?”

Bucky scowls. He looks up at her, his jaw clenched. “Now, this is a stupid little therapy trick isn’t it.”

“I’m just putting things into perspective, Bucky. Why do you think you see Steve’s affection and his love for you as something he must have faked, rather than what he felt?”

Bucky exhales sharply and lets his head fall back against the sofa cushion. The damn thing is too soft. He feels like he’s sinking to the ground.

“You haven’t met Steve, alright. He could have had anyone. We were so fucking young. I never even realized that at the time, but we were twenty-three. Just stupid kids. If he hadn’t felt so guilty, if he hadn’t thought of it as some sort of thing to fix, he would have been able to leave.”

Claire shakes her head, scribbling something on her notepad.

“If it had been you to rescue him, how would you have treated him? How would you have shown him you cared?”

Bucky swallows, rolling his head to the side until his cheek is resting against the fabric. It’s almost like satin. It’s comforting, in a way, even though he feels like he’s slipping around like a disjointed eel.

“I would have treated him like he was a normal fucking person. Not like he was some sort of mission I set myself. Sitrep, Brooklyn, Bucky woke up and threw up. Incident status: still occurring. I hated him for it. I really did. I wasn’t broken, I was…I don’t even know. I needed a little time. I needed…I needed him.” He inhales until he feels his belly rise all the way up. “He always fucking left. Sometimes, it was actually worse when he stayed.”

“It must have been hard, having the person that you love the most not acknowledging your feelings.”

Bucky furrows his brow. “It’s not like I told him how I felt. I kept thinking that if I could at least pretend that I was ok, if I could hold it together enough, he’d move on and stop…” He can’t even find the words.

“Stop what?” Claire tries.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do. Just try to find what was bothering you so much.”

Bucky chews on his lips. He wishes for something to do with his hands. He cracks his thumbs then every single one of his fingers.

“I hated that he was so angry. That he was being so old testament about the whole thing. An eye for an eye type of deal. I’d wake up, just soaking wet with sweat. I was like an old man, I had creaky bones and holes in my brain. And he’d just hound me for details. What did I see, what did I hear? He just held on to it, as if somehow, it’d make it right. If he could catch the guy who took me, I’d be fixed. Like I said, sitrep, battle plan, and so on.”

“How did you deal with that, at the time?” she asks gently.

“I told him the truth. I didn’t remember anything. But he couldn’t help it, he had to make it right. And in the end, none of it fucking mattered, because when he did catch the guy, he made a deal with their agency and he got away with it all. Nice little lesson about revenge, I guess.” Bucky closes his eyes and rubs at his temples. “Do I sound like an asshole?”

Claire chuckles. “I think you sound like someone that just needed comfort from their partner and didn’t know how to ask for it. Someone that then let resentment build on that lack of communication. You’re not an asshole, Bucky.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“Oh yeah, you can trust me. I’m a doctor.”

Bucky settles back straighter on the cushions with a smirk. He might just be in good hands.

*****

It’s nowhere near Easter, but it didn’t stop Bucky from craving the lamb stew that Sarah used to make for them every year. He wasn’t sure if Steve would want to help, given his terrible cooking skills and the fact that remembering his mother is always a little painful, but in the end, it didn’t take much to drag him to Whole Foods to look at lamb legs.

Bucky inspects the rack of fresh herbs with furrowed brows. They definitely need rosemary, but how much mint?

“I could grow these in my apartment, you know, with the amount of light I get. Leave it in the office. It would practically grow itself.”

Bucky slowly turns to him. “Plants do not grow themselves, Steve. And for what anyway? You don’t cook.”

“Yeah but Sam does. Could be my part. Growing the herbs.”

Bucky doesn’t give that insanity a minute more of his attention. He takes a couple of rosemary packs and double the amount for the mint. He hasn’t made mint sauce in years. He probably won’t do Sarah’s recipe justice but it’s the effort that counts, right?

“We should make an apple pie, too. Remember her apple pie? She’d make the stripy thing herself. What’s that even called? But we could make it too.”

“We, huh?”

“I can roll the pastry. I can do some things in the kitchen, Buck.”

Bucky glares at him. He’ll believe that when he’ll see it. He moves on to the fruit aisle and picks up a handful of apples. It’s not a terrible idea. Steve follows with his hands in his pockets, trailing along like a happy puppy.

Bucky turns around to look at him. His hair has grown longer again but it’s swept back like it usually is. He’s clean shaven and rosy cheeked. He’s wearing a cable knit sweater under his coat. He looks so soft. Does Bucky still find breathtakingly attractive? Sure, but only because he’s got eyes on his face. It’s no big deal.

They queue up at the till point side by side. “Becca set me up with this guy,” he starts, putting the items on the conveyor belt, “I don’t even know why I said yes. Terrible idea.”

Steve smiles, nods.

“She’s worse than Nat at this if you can believe that.”

Bucky passes on the details about how he looked at the guy’s Instagram and decided that yeah, maybe, he could go on a random blind date and at least get some sex out of it. Steve doesn’t need to know about that. What he does tell him is that he spent about two hours listening to the most boring man on Earth talk about accounting.

He pays for the groceries and they split the bags to carry. Bucky continues his story.

“Then, he proceeds to lecture about why I should eat only kosher. Why the fuck did he care about my diet? I have no idea. I already don’t eat pork, I’m sure that’s enough. I’m sure you get away with that alone.”

Besides him, Steve hums. “It’s no one’s business but yours, anyway.”

“Exactly, that’s what I said. You should have seen his face when I said that I thought shabbat was on Sundays.”

Steve laughs. “No way. Even I know that it’s on Saturdays.”

They get by Bucky’s building and he buzzes them in. “Yeah, well, I thought it was Sundays. My ma always says it's on the seventh day. How was I supposed to know the Jewish seventh day is Saturday?” he says with a shrug, “I mean, you don’t have to be an encyclopedia about Judaism to be Jewish, right? You just are. Never meant someone so pedantic about his own culture, Christ.”

Bucky pushes the key in the door and lets them both in. “Anyway, so that’s my terrible date story. What about you? Any good gossip to share?”

Steve sets the bags down before he takes off his coat. “No, Buck, nothing to tell.”

Bucky picks up the bags and walks over to the kitchen. Steve is behind him. He sits down at the island, his fingers tap on the surface in rhythm. Bucky eyes him up and down. This man, not getting any? In what world?

“What, you’re not seeing anyone? At all?” Bucky asks. He tries his best to sound more bewildered than relieved.

“There’s just this guy, you know?” Steve says with a little smile, a half shrug, “can’t seem to get him out of my head for some reason.”

Bucky nods. A guy. Great. At least when Steve was dating women, Bucky could almost convince himself that it wasn’t anything he could compete with. But now, another guy, what chance does he have? Not that he should even think about any of that. He should focus on being happy for his friend.

“Yeah?” Bucky says after a pause that lasted a second too long. “What are you waiting for then? Go get him.” Steve shakes his head, his smile widening. Bucky keeps on staring silently. “What? I can’t believe you screwed it up, Rogers. All you gotta do is apologize, didn’t therapy teach you anything?”

Steve stands up, walking over to where Bucky is putting away the last of the groceries. He takes the fruit bag and starts placing the apples in the bowl on the kitchen island. Bucky tracks his movements impatiently.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think saying sorry is going to cut it. I’ve got history with this guy.”

Bucky steadies his breathing. Who the fuck does Steve has history with that he doesn’t know about? Is Steve fucking Sam? No way. He hides his face inside the fridge, piling up the butter on top of the cheeses.

“What kind of history are we talking about here?”

“Long. And not all great. A lot of dark times. But whatever it is we ever went through, I really believed he was worth it.”

Bucky turns his head around sharply. What is happening here…

“I can’t believe what I did to him. I never thought I’d ever make so many mistakes at once. I really wanted to think I was a good guy, that I wasn’t even capable of that. I abandoned him, when he was at his worst. I cheated, doesn’t matter how I want to paint the picture, it happened and I tried to deny it with all I had because I hated that I could have done it.”

“Steve,” Bucky says painfully. His grip on the fridge door tightens.

“What happened with Peggy should have never happened. I should have drawn a line. It was up to me and I didn’t. Who does that? Who lets something so obvious, so awful, poison something so good? It took me all this time to be able to look at my own actions. I am so ashamed of myself, Bucky. I took advantage of you both. Whatever reason I had, whatever I was going through, it will never excuse it.”

Bucky swallows. He feels like a deer caught in crosshairs. His whole body shakes in anticipation. His life hangs on Steve’s lips. Will he live? Will he be shot, for the hundredth time?

Steve looks down at his feet. He crosses his arms on his chest. He hasn’t stopped smiling.

“So, there I was, having fucked up the best relationship ever, right? And then, you won’t believe this, I get a second chance at it. Who gets this lucky in life? But, me being me, I can’t take a good thing for what it is, I rush the hell out of it, I don’t let this guy take a breath. And get this, I don’t even apologize properly. I give him no time to process anything, let alone forgive me for how badly I treated him. I push and push.”

Bucky closes the fridge but doesn’t let go of the handle. He presses his forehead again the cool metal. “Steve,” he tries again. He can taste his heartbeat in his mouth. His body thrums with it.

“I think to myself,” Steve goes on, ignoring him, “ok, now I really fucked up. No way in hell anything will happen now. Then, this girl at work asks me out. And she’s nice, a really good person. But, this guy, I really can’t get him out of my head. No matter how hard I try. It’s just so obvious. To everyone, but me apparently. So that’s another person I hurt without meaning to.”

Steve moves closer. He presses his body on the side of the fridge. Bucky doesn’t move or look at him. Steve doesn’t touch him. It doesn’t matter. Being this close is bad enough.

“She breaks up with me and I feel relieved. How fucked up is that? It was like a weight was off. She was just great, too. Nothing wrong with her. But I was glad. I probably even smiled when she gave me that speech. She must think I’m a giant asshole. She’d be right.”

Bucky snorts, rolling his face towards Steve. He grins.

“I’m sorry I hurt her too. I’m not doing that again. I’m not going to be presumptuous to think I deserve a third chance, because that’s insane.”

Bucky closes his eyes. He nods, as well as he can manage with his cheek pressed up against a fridge door. “Have you asked the guy, though? Maybe he’d hear you out.”

Steve turns his face, looking the other way. He shakes his head again, but his smile doesn’t falter.

“Oh no. This guy, he’s real special. The whole package. He’s got these eyes…I’ve spent full days trying to get the right shade, how they reflect light. It’s amazing. And when he smiles, it’s the best thing. I really think that’s my favorite thing in the world. There’s definitely a long line of guys waiting by his door.”

“You’d be surprised,” Bucky mutters.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s a fleeting touch. It’s gone before Bucky can even registers it was there.

“Look at me, Buck,” Steve asks softly.

Bucky opens his eyes reluctantly.

“I made a lot of promises to you and I broke all of them. You stood by me, you made me the happiest man on earth when you married me. I was so deep into my own shit that I didn’t even see you anymore. I blamed you for so long because I couldn’t even admit to myself that I had ruined our marriage. But I did. Nothing will ever change that.”

“It was definitely a two-man job, Steve, don’t take all the credit.”

Steve chuckles. Bucky only realizes then how quiet everything is. How, besides the thumping in his chest, there is no noise at all in the apartment. The fridge isn’t even humming. It’s just him and Steve, the rest of the world has disappeared.

“I’m getting better. Or at least I hope I am. I’ve been in therapy for a full year now and she’s finally saying I’m making progress.” He chuckles again. “Only took me thirty-four years.”

They look at each other like that, right up against the fridge, for no reason whatsoever, for probably too long. Bucky is the one who reaches out. Steve takes his hand but doesn’t move closer. They’re about a foot apart still and it feels good. Safe, in a way. This isn’t setting anything in stone but it’s a step forward.

“I’m not ready for this, Steve,” Bucky says as gently as he can.

“I know. I’m not asking for anything.”

“I’m not ready,” Bucky repeats, “but I want this. I don’t want…I can’t ask you to wait for me. I don’t know if I’ll ever…I don’t know. Step up to the plate. But you have to know I want to, I really do.”

Steve rubs his thumb on the back of Bucky’s hand. “That’s all I wanted to know. Whether you wanted this too. I don’t need anything else. I won’t make any demands. You just let me know. We’ll figure it out.”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand. There are the fridge handles standing in the way of their faces. He can’t even sneak a kiss in without moving. He sighs before pushing himself upwards.

Steve is still. He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes are on Bucky. It’s just as overwhelming as ever, to be the source of such passion, of such deep running adoration. Bucky hasn’t stopped being grateful for being loved that way. He wants to give it back tenfold. And he will. He’s realized now, when he truly wants something, he can work hard enough to get it.

Bucky puts his free hand on Steve’s shoulder. He traces his way up to his neck and holds there. They’re flushed together now, chest to chest. He intertwines their fingers together properly and places their linked hand on his back before letting go. Steve holds on there. Bucky grips on to Steve’s waist tightly.

“We fucked up. We really did,” he starts, “and there’s still a fucking long way to go. But you’re worth it too, Steve. You’re worth it every time.”

Steve brushes a strand of Bucky’s hair away from his forehead with his thumb. He caresses the skin there with the gentlest touch. “I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have you, Buck.”

Bucky smiles. “That’s extremely sappy, you know that? That was a long goddamn speech too.”

Steve laughs then, high and bright, almost pushing him away.

“I know you didn’t believe I was talking about you at the beginning. That was adorable.”

Bucky presses his closed fist on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Trying not to look jealous.”

“God, Steve, shut up,” Bucky mumbles, slotting his forehead in the crook of his neck, “we’re having a moment.”

“Oh, are we now?”

“Yeah, if you’d shut your trap for long enough.”

Steve wraps both arms around him and cradles his head. They sway like this, for a second, holding tight. Bucky breathes him in, the scent of his skin, his warmth. This is where he wants to be, for as long as Steve will let him. This is what he’s tried to forget, for so long. What he denied himself, what he believed he hadn’t earned. But in the end, there was no fighting it. This, he can choose to have. This, he deserves, and so does Steve. This, he’ll have again. Not now, not just yet, but soon.

Just like that, his heart steadies. Quiet, again. Everything in balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some softness just on time for December :)  
> Next up is the final chapter, that might just be split in two if it becomes too long, we'll see. Thank you to everyone who's been following this story as well and hello to everyone new! I'm on tumblr [here](https://evanguelia.tumblr.com/) if you want to hang out and cry about supersoldiers in love :)  
> See you next time!


	14. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s my birthday soon,” Bucky says.
> 
> “Any plans?” Claire asks politely.
> 
> He shakes his head. “Last year, I met Steve in Stark Tower, after blocking him everywhere and not seeing him for nine months. It was so surreal. Then, we fucked in my apartment.”
> 
> Claire raises an eyebrow.
> 
> “I had party,” he clarifies, “I didn’t just march him back to fuck him.”
> 
> “Oh.”
> 
> “This year, I don’t know about that.”
> 
> “About what?”
> 
> “The party. Definitely not fucking him again.” Although. No. Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah, definitely not.”

“So what? He went Jerry Maguire on you and you’re off to the sunset? Isn’t that too easy?”

Bucky had believed that walking Lucky with Natasha again would bring back a lot of happy memories. Turns out he had completely forgotten about the accompanying judgment that came with the fresh air and the wonders of Prospect Park.

He frowns. “We’re not back together.”

“Yeah, I know.” She shrugs. In her thick coat, her slim shoulders look so much bigger. She looks ridiculous, wrapped up in what possibly might be a thousand layers. “But a month ago, he had a work official girlfriend. Now, he’s oh so sorry and full of grand gestures and what’s going to happen?”

Bucky kicks at pebbles on his way. “I don’t know. I’ve got no idea.”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t change anything. I remember how fucked up you were over him. I was there. It’s not that hard to give a good speech. What comes after that? That’s the tough part.”

“I know that,” Bucky grumbles, “he knows that. Everybody knows that. We’re not back together, I just said. I need time. We both do.”

Her jaw clenches and she looks away. They come to stop while Lucky pees by a tree. Bucky shuffles his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the back of Natasha’s head.

“I’m not jumping into anything,” he says to get her to turn around.

She hums, still not looking at him. Lucky starts up again and they get back into their rhythm of walking in silence.

“I take it that you don’t agree,” he says.

“It’s not about agreeing.” She stops to unhook Lucky’s leash once they get near the lake. She sprints away as soon as she’s free. “I worry about you. And yeah, maybe I hate Steve a little for trying to sweep you off your feet when he was America’s contender for world’s worst husband. What right does he have?”

Bucky looks down at his feet. They stand side by side, Natasha scowling at him, Bucky avoiding her eyes, for a second or so. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and shrugs.

“We both fucked up. So bad. But there’s still, you know, love there or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Natasha repeats, huffing.

“Yeah,” Bucky persists, “what do you want me to say? Maybe he’s the love of my life. Who knows! I’m not going to get back together with him next week, I’m not saying that. I’m the one who has the longest way to go, if we’re honest. But it was sweet. He’s trying.”

“Don’t say that because that’s not true. I swear to god if he told you that…”

“What’s not true?”

“You don’t have the longest way to go, Jesus. He’s the one with decades of PTSD to go through.”

Bucky reaches out for her and presses her into his side. “My very own little German shepherd,” he says into her hair.

She elbows him in the ribs. “I’m serious. Be careful. Look after yourself first, ok? That’s all I ask.”

“I am, I promise I am,” he goes on, starting walking again.

They come to a stop once they find a free bench. They sit down, next to each other, looking vaguely where Lucky is chasing pigeons around.

“What about Pietro?” she asks after a minute.

“What about him?”

She turns to glare at him. “I remember what happened before Christmas.”

Bucky smiles and pokes her shoulder. “I get it now, you’re just team Pietro, huh? You want me to get back with him, instead of Steve, because he loves your stupid parties.”

Finally, a crack in the façade. A small smile tugs at her lips. “Do you know how long I used to wait to get an appointment at his salon? But when I could see him every other morning in my kitchen, topless, eating my cereal…”

“Now that is a lie, Pietro would never eat cereal,” Bucky interjects.

“All of sudden,” she continues, ignoring him, “he had a space for me anytime I asked. Remember my hair back then? Because I do.”

“Your hair always looks great, don’t worry. Steve might not cut hair as good but he’s, you know, also good at…Different things.”

“Things?” She says, smirking, “I also recall you saying you didn’t work together, no matter how much you loved each other. What happened to that?”

Bucky pushes his hands deeper in his pockets, wrapping himself further in his coat. He sighs and watches his breath escape his mouth in a straight line.

“I’m done telling myself I don’t want him anymore. I had to leave. I did it because there was nothing else that I could have done. But he’s still Steve and I’m still me. It’s him and me, at the end of the day. We’ll be patient but we’ll get there.”

Lucky trots back to them with a long stick stuck in her mouth. Natasha calls her to her and throws the stick as far as she can. Lucky happily runs after it. Natasha manages to lock her arm in Bucky’s and shuffles impossibly closer.

“Wow, James, did I hear this right? Is this maturity, at long last?” She whistles, like an asshole. “I never believed I’d see the day.”

Bucky hums. He deserves it.

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy, you know that right?”

“Of course, same goes to you.” He turns and kisses the top of her hair. “Who needs Pietro when you got these strong genes, Nat? That shine, that’s not something you can fake.”

She perks up and gives him a real smile. “Flattery won’t get you out of me making fun of you for your terrible decisions, but feel free to keep trying.”

*****

Bucky doesn’t quit the therapy, even as it gets tougher and tougher. The amount of homework he has to do is truly ridiculous. He hates the worksheets, mostly because he hates analyzing his own thoughts and actions, but then again, that’s the whole point of therapy and he’s the one who signed up for it. But maybe, just maybe it does help to talk. Maybe he does feel better after some of his sessions with Claire. He’s not about to admit out loud though.

February is gone too quickly and then it’s already March, as it so happens every year. Doesn’t help. Bucky has been so swamped at work that he has barely noticed how close it got to the 10th. He’s not sure if Claire is as troubled by that as he is. She probably isn’t. He sighs, picking at the seams of his jeans on her too soft, slippery sofa. She waits, as she always does, patient and careful.

“It’s my birthday soon,” Bucky says.

“Any plans?” Claire asks politely.

He shakes his head. “Last year, I met Steve in Stark Tower, after blocking him everywhere and not seeing him for nine months. It was so surreal. Then, we fucked in my apartment.”

Claire raises an eyebrow.

“I had a party,” he clarifies, “I didn’t just march him back to fuck him.”

“Oh.”

“This year, I don’t know about that.”

“About what?”

“The party. Definitely not fucking him again.” Although…No. Bucky shakes his head. “Yeah, definitely not.”

Claire takes it all in strides. “Are you afraid that the party might lead to sex, again?”

Bucky blows out a long breath. “Actually, and you’ll be proud of yourself for this, I keep thinking of two years ago, when we were still married and we were supposed to go on this trip, upstate. It was objectively bad. I’m not catastrophizing or anything.” Bucky has learned that word in therapy and he feels smug every time he uses it. “Nor am I magnifying it either. I’m only objective here.” And isn’t that the bingo of CBT. He’s won the gold medal.

“OK, OK,” Claire says patiently, “you can sit here too if you want.”

“Yeah, so,” Bucky goes on with a grin, “it was at that time that I thought I should think about my options. That’s the word divorce lawyers use to say divorce. Anyway. At that point, he was going on really long assignments, all the time and he would literally shrug it off. He would go out and I wouldn’t hear about him for a month and a half. It was crazy. I kept waiting to have Fury call me to let me know he was dead. I was going out of my mind. But when he’d come back, I couldn’t even be mad, because who knew how long I’d have with him? At least, when he was still army personnel, he’d have set leave and I could plan my arguments. But after he joined SHIELD, it was all up to Fury.”

Claire keeps her eyes on him, doesn’t nod, doesn’t write down anything. Bucky is sure now that she’s the best therapist in the five boroughs for that reason alone.

“He left in November and I had no idea if he’d show up again for Christmas. I booked him a flight ticket, just in case, and until the 24th, I hoped he’d come back. He didn’t. I went to Shelbyville on my own and that’s when Becca and Mark told us they were pregnant…The whole time I was there, I was so angry at them for being so happy. I really, really despised them. It was just so easy for them. God, I’m such a jerk.”

“You envied them. You wanted what they had.”

“I don’t even like kids. I mean, I love my nephew, but not for me.”

“You envied their marriage, the fact that they could be there for each other and share their happiness with your whole family. But you were alone and very worried about your husband, who was in combat. It doesn’t take away from the love you have for your sister.”

Bucky scoffs. “I think you’re starting to like me too much. I _hated_ Becca. She had the house, the husband, the dog, and the minivan. And I went to war. And Steve deserted me because I was so fucked up, it made him sick.”

Claire writes down something hurriedly. “You envied the companionship they seemingly offered each other. You envied what you perceived as what everyone should want, even though you have stated before you never wanted any of that.”

“No, I still don’t.” He bites at his bottom lip hard. “It doesn’t make it any better that she got it all, she got it all figured out and I still don’t. I’m two years older and I’m a fucking train wreck. That wasn’t even what I wanted to talk about.”

“You said before that you enlisted because you wanted to get college education and unburden your mom, for your sisters’ future. Do you feel some resentment toward your sister because you sacrificed that perfect American dream for her and she got it without working for it, as you believe you have?”

“See, how fucked up is that? How can I hate my sister for doing what I always wanted her to do? She didn’t ask me to enlist. No one did. I did it all on my own.”

Claire sits back better in her armchair. That’s her signature move before she’s about to lay down the law. Bucky sighs again.

“You were eighteen years old when you enlisted and deployed. You were captured by the enemy, twice. You were declared KIA and then tortured for a full year. Those are hugely traumatic events. Then, you come back state side and everyone’s life has been going forward without you, as people do. You have no tools to deal with what happened to you. The only person that could relate to this experience disappears often from your life. Do you think your frustration, and then your anger, aren’t a little justified here?”

“Aren’t you supposed to recircuit my brain so that I love my sister better?” Bucky grumbles stubbornly.

She smiles. “You said that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about. What did you want to talk about?”

Bucky cracks his neck. “That Christmas was shot to hell. New Years was worse. I didn’t even leave the apartment for a week because I kept thinking, what if he comes back and he’s injured, or he needs me, or they’ll call the landline instead of my phone. It goes on and on.”

“You start spiraling.”

“Yeah. And then he’s back. He’s fine. I’m so fucking happy, I just start bawling. He passes out as soon as he gets in bed and I just sit there. I keep rubbing his back just to make sure this is a hallucination and I just can’t stop sobbing.”

He pauses, swallows. It’s odd, how that feeling never left him back then and how clearly he can still see it now. How painful it was, how constricted his chest and his throat were and how he could barely breathe, couldn’t see through the flood of tears but had to keep his eyes open to make sure Steve wouldn’t just vanish.

“Bucky,” Claire says gently, “look at me. Take a breath. Deep. In and out.” Bucky obeys, eyes on her. She almost got an officer sort of voice. “That’s it. How do you feel now?”

Bucky waits until he gets his own breathing under control. How stupid is that? Even a memory of a feeling can get him this fucked up. And Steve had been fine. He had been asleep, curled up under the covers, his mouth half open, completely unaware. But how long did that peace last? How long until he had gone out the door again, letting Bucky to worry all over again.

“Stay with me,” Claire says, a little stronger, “Bucky, how are you feeling?”

“I know…I know he’s ok. I just…I can’t believe this shit. It’s so fucking dumb. Isn’t it? He’s not there…He doesn’t do that anymore. I…Do you mind if I…I just need to talk to him.”

She keeps her eyes on him, her eyebrows knitting together. “I think you need to sort through these emotions first, it wouldn’t be so beneficial…”

Bucky gets up in a hurry. “I don’t need more fucking therapy lingo. I’m just taking a second to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

He hopes he didn’t shout. It’s really not Claire’s fault. He closes the door behind him as softly as he can. The corridor is empty, luckily. He pulls out his phone and scrolls down until he finds Steve’s name. It’s been a couple weeks since they last seen each other. They text often though. Bucky really hopes he’s not overstepping there.

All he needs is a second. Just to make sure. He’s not being the most rational right now. Steve is in his apartment, it’s the middle of the day, it’s a Saturday. The chances that something happened and that he’s lying in a puddle of his own blood are extremely slim, but Bucky only needs to make sure. To be on the safe side. Only a second.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?” Steve says after the second ring.

Bucky swallows. His hand is shaking so much that the phone keeps bumping into his head. “Nothing. I, uh, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

There’s a rustling noise, like papers being stacked away and pens rolling around on a desk.

“Are you ok?”

Bucky slides down the wall until he’s crouching in front of the door. He tries his best to keep on breathing. In and out. “No. Can you come get me? I’m at the VA. I really need you, Steve.”

“Ok, yeah.” There’s no hesitation in his voice. “I’ll be there in 20.”

“Ok,” Bucky repeats.

“Is Sam there? Are you going to be ok?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky lies, hoping his voice is steadier than his whole body, “I’m with Claire. Just come, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m on my way. Stay put.” And the call disconnects.

Bucky rolls his neck back until his head hits the wall. How bad an idea is this? Probably terrible. How much lighter does he feel, anyway? About a thousand times. Claire can give him all the shit she wants, at least he can stop counting to remember to breathe. Steve is fine. Steve will be here, because he’s available like that now. In arms’ reach.

He gets up and pushes the door open again. Claire hasn’t moved, she’s going through her notes. Bucky sits down sheepishly. He rubs his thumb inside his palm, cracking a few knuckles as he does. Claire sets her eyes on him again.

“Better?” she asks calmly.

“Yeah, sorry about that. He’s fine.” He swallows. “No surprise there, but he is. He’s coming to get me, when we’re done.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Wanna talk about it now?”

“No, no,” Bucky presses on, wiping his hair away from his sweaty forehead, “I’m finishing the fucking story. At least you’ll have the full picture.”

Claire doesn’t seem too happy about it but shrugs anyway.

“I left you in January, right? Steve came back, apologized like a hundred times, the same stupid excuses. That’s not important. I obviously didn’t buy any of it. I knew he had another mission lined up in a couple of days anyway, so I had to let it go. I had to let it go or I’d have nothing. It was down to that, at that point. Either stand my ground or actually spend time with my husband. It was so fucked up.”

“You picked your battles,” Claire states gently.

“Yeah, which was fighting none. But, belated Christmas miracle, Steve could tell I was upset for once, so he started planning up a weekend getaway for my birthday because he was pretty sure Valentine’s day was also shot. And me, stupid, naïve me, I’m thinking, he’s finally trying. He’s fixing this. We’re going to go and relax upstate in those fancy spa places in the mountains or whatever shit. I was _swooning_. Imagine that. I was so happy. My husband still cared about me. Fucking pathetic…”

He takes the time to breathe in and out through the anger, the hurt, the rage. Claire doesn’t push or pry. She waits, calm as ever, focused on him. If Bucky could find the word, he’d try and express all the gratitude he has for this woman, for this space she gives him to process it all.

“He went away again because that was what he did. He went away for half of January, then came back for one day and one night, then left again. Didn’t see him in February, then didn’t see him in March. I took my goddamn pregnant sister to the spa retreat. The spa retreat! The five-star hotel spa retreat where I had been fantasizing about getting fucked on every surface! And Becca felt so sorry for me, the whole time. I know she could tell that it was the last straw. It was just ridiculous. And then, guess what?”

“What?” she says, humoring him.

“He comes back, in April, so that’s two months I haven’t seen him or heard from him, and he sleeps for a whole day. I come back from work and he’s in our bed, knocked the fuck out, and I think, first thought that comes to my head, they brought his body home. How fucked up is that? I don’t even think that’s him, alive, well, sleeping, I think that’s his _corpse_. Who even would have done that?”

“This sounds like an extremely distressing time in your life. In the face of distress, logic doesn’t stand much a chance, for anyone.”

Bucky shakes his head. “He was alive, obviously, but then when he finally, finally woke up, he had completely forgotten. I didn’t say anything, because I never did, back then. I just stood around him, making sure he was eating, that he was resting, until he’d get the call and go back in. Took him two days to remember my birthday. Two long fucking days. He was so sorry about it, like always. Him and his guilt. Like that meant anything. Who the fuck cares, when what’s done is done? Takes a lot more than being sorry. Three weeks later, I told Nat to write the divorce agreement. A month after, I served him the papers.”

He sinks back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling. It’s like being cleaned out from the inside, scraped raw and left so desperately empty. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with whatever stays behind.

“Everyone would agree, that’s not a relationship,” Bucky says, not looking directly at Claire, “no one would blame me for leaving. But then, he does shit like this, pick up his phone and he’s out the door because I ask. He gives long speeches about how much he loves me. Buys me a Cartier bracelet because I pointed one out once. I should hate him. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Feelings often don’t,” Claire points out, “there’s never either all bad or all good.”

Bucky nods weakly.

“Does he make you happy, now?”

Bucky considers this for a second. Being friends with Steve, no fucking, no kissing, no extended touching, has been odd. But Steve has never stopped being his best friend. He still makes Bucky laugh like no one else can. These days, he is trying his hardest to prove how much he’s changed, how much more thoughtful he can be, how patient and kind he’s always been too. Bucky lets himself smile a little, warm all over from just thinking about Steve’s stupid, gorgeous face.

“Yeah,” Bucky admits quietly, “yeah, he really does.”

Claire smiles back. “There’s a lot of history between you two. A lot of hurt, a lot of pain, that you need to look at more closely. The way you were right back there in a second, Bucky, that is worrying. We’ll take it one step at the time. For now, you should have a relaxing afternoon with Steve. He should be here by now.”

Bucky looks down at his watch. The session is over. He clears his throat, nods, gets up. He shakes Claire’s hand and thanks her. She smiles and opens the door for him. No Steve. Bucky says his goodbye and goes down the stairs to get to the reception.

Steve is there, solid and alive and beautiful and Bucky almost trips over himself. Steve sees him from the corner of his eyes, in just one second, like he’s a dog trained to detect Bucky making a fool of himself. Steve opens his arms and closes around Bucky as he would if he were trying to shield him from the world. Bucky drops his forehead on his shoulders and holds on tight.

“Hey,” he says for good measure, but the noise must be swallowed by Steve’s leather jacket.

“Buck, hey, are you ok?” Steve asks, petting Bucky’s back in broad strokes.

“Yeah.” Bucky breathes in deep. Steve smells just like his stupid 7 in 1 shower gel, all musk and woodwork. There’s no better smell in the world. “Can we go back to my place?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Steve steps back but keeps his hands on Bucky’s elbows, studying his face carefully. Bucky waves him off. He buttons up his coat and starts walking. Steve follows in silence.

Outside, waiting for them is The Bike. Bucky braces himself as Steve passes him a helmet. It’s not a big deal. It was the quickest way to get there. It’s just going to be twenty minutes pressed up against Steve. He’s done it before. He can do it again.

Steve rubs his thumb on Bucky’s cheek. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Fine, yeah. Tough session. I just want to get home.”

Steve nods and hops on. He kicks it into gear and Bucky settles behind him. He has been to war, that was worse, he reminds himself as the machine starts to vibrate under his ass.

*****

Bucky lets them in and drops on his couch as soon as he’s inside, coat and boots and all. He buries his face in the pillows and groans.

Behind him, he hears Steve put away his jacket, take off his shoes, put the electric kettle on. Oh, he’s making Bucky tea. Bucky rolls over, dragging a throw over himself. Steve comes back in the living room and smiles, a soft thing on his lips that Bucky wants nothing more but kiss away. He smiles back.

“Are you burrowing? Winter is almost over,” Steve teases, going to untie the laces on Bucky’s boots.

Bucky extends his other leg for Steve. Once he’s rid of both shoes, he buries his toes under the pillows. “Come here,” he demands, widening his legs under the blanket, reaching out towards Steve.

Steve eyes him up and down. Bucky can see the gears running in his little brain. Idiot. “I only need a hug, Steve, I’m not sucking your dick. Just come here.”

Steve huffs out something that Bucky misses. He does move closer though, so Bucky pats at his own thighs expectantly, but Steve hovers over him, his hands on his hips.

“Take off your coat at least,” he says, tugging at the collar, “you can’t still be cold, it’s a thousand degrees in here.”

Bucky begrudgingly obeys in a hurry, dropping the coat by the side of the couch. Steve looks at it like this is his floor, this is his mess, this has anything to do with him. Bucky is about to crawl out of his skin. Steve sighs, picks up the coat, smooths it out… _Smooths it out_ …It was on the floor for half a second. Bucky waits anyway. He waits until Steve puts it away on the coat hanger, puts the boots away too, then finally comes back and then manages to sit down on the coffee table in front of Bucky, instead of what he had been told to, lay down _on top_ of Bucky.

Bucky is very ready to commit murder again.

“Steve…”

“Hey,” he says instead, “do you want to talk about why you called me, Buck?”

Is there _anything_ that Bucky wants to talk about less?

“I feel better now, Steve, I promise, I just want you to come here,” he insists, rubbing at his legs this time, “please just come here.”

“You sounded like you were having a panic attack,” Steve goes on, as if Bucky hadn’t said anything at all, “why’d you call me? You could have called Nat.”

Bucky closes his head and frowns. He hates this. He hates this more than therapy. He doesn’t need another session. A mission debrief. He needs someone to lay down on his couch with him.

“Can you do one thing that I ask you to, for once in your goddamn life,” Bucky says, trying his hardest to keep his voice cool and collected.

“Just tell me, Buck. I want to help you.”

If that’s not just the best. Steve Rogers, MD. Bucky pinches at his nose, breathes in and out so he won’t just explode. He can do this, he can stay calm.

But then, Steve reaches out and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder, like he’s just a whiny child that needs to be talked through his own emotions before he’s given his treats. Bucky flings Steve’s hand away with his own and sits up abruptly.

“I used to think you were dead, you fucking asshole,” he finally spits out, “I used to think you were fucking dead, all the time! I never told anyone because I thought I was going insane!”

Bucky bounces up. He’s on his feet before he knows it, towering over Steve. But he doesn’t look at him. Steve looks down at his feet, rubbing at his temples, breathing hard, like he has any reason to be getting angry back at Bucky.

“There’s nothing I can do about it now. I tried, I fucking tried. I took that month off. We could have gone anywhere…”

“What, _after_ I told you I wanted a divorce?”

“It’s not like we discussed that you considered leaving me! How could I have known! You were plotting away with Natasha, at work. What was I supposed to do? Huh? I know I fucked up, I know that, but what do you want me to do now? What can I do in the present except apologize and apologize?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky says, “you had no idea? You’re really going to stick with that excuse? Fuck you. You knew. You can’t make me believe you thought I was happy.”

“Do you think _I_ was happy? Do you think I wanted to live like that?”

Bucky shrugs, turns away. “You have no one to blame for SHIELD but yourself so don’t give me that shit.”

“Where are you going? Where the fuck are you going?”

Bucky retreats into the kitchen. He grabs onto the island counter, tight. He blows out a long breath, then another one. He can hear Steve right behind him, stock still and furious. Always so fucking furious.

“We can’t just yell at each other like jerkoffs all the time. Let’s just cool off, ok? Give me a minute.”

Steve doesn’t take another step. Bucky turns around to look at him. He’s frowning, his arms crossed, his tongue running on his front teeth. He lets out a sigh, pacing back and forth.

“Come here, Rogers,” Bucky says softly.

For a second, Steve doesn’t move. For a second, Bucky thinks he spoke too low and he didn’t hear him. But then, he sets himself forward and collides with Bucky’s back. Bucky huffs. Steve circles his waist and holds on to his own arms, squeezing Bucky tightly, pulling him as close as possible. Bucky runs his hands over Steve’s arms, pushing back and straightening up.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says and it’s muffled by Bucky’s shoulder, “I’m an asshole.”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky says gently, “we’re both assholes. I started the yelling. It’s just…Therapy is a lot. I never thought it’d be like this.”

Steve presses his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder blade. “I want to be there for you. If you want me to. I’m sorry I blew out.” He inhales then exhales away from Bucky’s neck. Bucky wishes Steve could just angle his face toward him and breathe there instead. Bucky puts his hands on top of Steve’s.

“Thank you for picking me up. It meant a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just call me whenever. I don’t mind.”

“Did you cancel all your plans to jump on your bike and rescue me like some damsel in distress?”

Steve chuckles. He doesn’t let go. Bucky feels so warm. “Oh yeah, my Netflix watchlist has been put on the backburner. Just for you, sweetheart.”

“Boy, don’t I feel special.”

Bucky twists around, as difficult as it is inside Steve’s steel grip, and wraps his arms around his shoulders loosely. He rubs his thumbs on the thick muscles there. Steve never skips any day at the gym, now, does he? He scans his hands back until they find Steve’s cheeks. It’d be so easy now, to just tip forward and let their mouths meet. They haven’t kissed since that day, back in October, just after therapy, too. Isn’t that a sign that it should happen? That’s progress, in a way. Right?

“Buck, stop,” Steve says seriously, angling his head away from him, “when we do this, we’re doing it properly.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “ _When_ we do this, huh?”

“We’re not having sex,” he goes on.

“Jesus, Rogers, I was just going to kiss you.”

“And then what?”

Bucky feels an ugly rush of anger creep up again. “Then you’d have been kissed! Fuck. I’ve been told I’m pretty good kisser too. You’re missing out.”

Steve indulges him. He smiles and holds on to Bucky’s chin to make sure he’s looking at him. “It’s just…Not now, ok? Some time, but not now. We can talk more, if you want. I’ll stay calm, I promise. I need…You’re not the only one working through things, but I can be calm.”

Right by them, the kettle beeps. Steve’s smile widens. “I can still make tea and we can just sit down too.”

Bucky shrugs. If that’s all he’ll get, he’ll take it.

*****

Bucky is almost glad that the spring is coming, because it means the weather isn’t as miserable and he can have iced boba now. It also means his birthday keeps creeping closer but what are friends for except to remind you about it constantly?

“I could just organize everything if you’d let me,” Natasha insists. She sucks on her straw loudly. The coconut and whatever disgusting bits at the bottom swim up and down the cup. Bucky is weirdly mesmerized.

“I wouldn’t do anything besides a dinner. I’m old now, what’s the point? I’m closer to being 40 than being 20. A true sign that no party will ever be needed to celebrate my age again.”

Natasha pouts.

“It would just depress everyone,” he goes on, “it’d be like pointing a neon sign on me, look who’s dying!”

“We could have a dinner party,” Natasha tries, “you’re being overly dramatic.”

“No, definitely not. I’m not saying let’s go to Wingstop. Or a three-star Michelin place. Something in between. You can still, I don’t know, ask the restaurant about doing the decoration.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Fine. But only because it’s your birthday.”

“You are most generous, Nat.”

“Would you invite your new good buddy Pietro Maximoff?” she asks, because she can’t help herself, a wide smirk on her lips.

Bucky waves her off. “Uh, huh. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? I doubt he’ll come though, given the wonderful memories I gave him last year.”

“Bygones,” Natasha says, shrugging.

“Alright, then you are officially in charge of the dinner that will happen to fall on my birthday. Don’t forget my sisters. No tacky shit though and you know what I mean.”

Natasha nods absently, dragging the last drops of the drink loudly.

“There’s nothing left in this, Nat, you’re just being gross.”

“And I take it Steve is coming too, right?”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise.

“Platonically?”

“Not by lack of trying,” he assures her.

“Maybe abstinence will be good for you. Can’t shoot it down before you’ve tried it.”

“I have tried it,” he objects immediately, “so much. That was basically our marriage. We were technically in a long-distance relationship. I’ve put in the time. He won’t even kiss me. Just one kiss, Nat, who would give a shit? Who’s he afraid of? The holy spirit?”

“I think it’s sweet.”

Bucky huffs. “Now, you think he’s sweet. When I’m not getting any.”

“You do have a tendency to think with your dick first, he’s got a point. It’s probably the only way he’s managed to have a conversation with you for longer than ten minutes. I respect that.”

“I feel sort of offended by this. That’s not true. Is it? It can’t be.”

She drops her plastic cup, then Bucky’s in a nearby trash. “Try and deny it then.”

Bucky considers this. He had wanted to put their relationship’s advancement on the therapy but was it because they didn’t just fall into bed again and hope for the best? The one time Steve had a good idea, it had to be something as bad as never having sex again.

“You’re right, aren’t you?” Bucky says, giving up.

Natasha’s smile is too wide for her face. Bucky pushes her away. “Finally!” she exclaims, “he listens! Mazel, James!”

*****

Natasha rents out some restaurant’s basement in Bushwick because of course, she would. She argues that it’s still not a party because there’ll be no dancing and no cheesy rendering of the happy birthday song, but Bucky knows better. The night is young, and Natasha is full of resources.

There are enough people around so that Pietro and Steve don’t have to interact directly, which is a blessing Bucky is ready to thank whatever god’s around for. Food is nice and there’s plenty of alcohol, which helps too.

Bucky is glad that there is no cake either and no candles. Whoever has bought him a present is merciful enough to bring it to him discreetly with a pat on the shoulder and not much commenting about his age. He almost waits for another joke from Pietro but then he thinks that it might bring back too many memories, something too fond that they’re not supposed to touch anymore. The jokes don’t come and most of the night, Pietro avoids him. Bucky is sure that’s for the best, with the way Steve is guarding his side like an angry, possessive bulldog that won’t even kiss him.

But Steve can’t just stand by him the whole night. The minute he’s out of the way, while Natasha is ribbing him about his clothes, Pietro finds his way behind Bucky. He startles when he feels a hand on his back and whips around with an elbow raised but Pietro, too used to it, sidesteps and raises his hands up.

“Sorry, forgot about the coming up on you thing,” he says gently.

God, his voice. Bucky always forgets how it rattles him. He smiles. “No, sorry, it’s not your fault.”

From the corner of his eye, Bucky can tell Steve is back from the bathroom and is trying to make his way back but he decides to ignore him for now.

“Thanks for coming, it’s good to see you,” Bucky says. He’s too used to finishing this sort of sentence with babe. It’s almost been a year since their relationship ended but it’s so easy to slip right back in those memories.

“Yeah, how could I resist Nat when she told me that she was throwing you the world’s most boring birthday party? Couldn’t have missed this spring’s event.”

Bucky smiles and bumps his shoulder into Pietro’s. “And here I thought you’d have wanted to see me off to my retirement house.”

Pietro snickers while Natasha beams. Bucky wants to flick her forehead before she gets any ideas. He should carry one of those spray bottles people use to house train cats.

“You don’t look half bad for an old man,” Pietro promises, “here, that’s my sendoff present.”

Pietro hands him an envelope. Bucky looks at him quizzically. He’s very aware of how quickly bad things could get, especially standing so closely to both his exes and Natasha. But Pietro smiles, easy and open as ever, not phased for a second. Bucky envies him his composure.

He rips open the envelope and finds a single sheet of paper inside, with only a couple words scribbled in Pietro’s distinctive and crooked handwriting. Free Haircut Pass. It’s underlined twice and there’s a post scriptum underneath, “to be redeemed whenever but pls book in advance, I run a distinguished establishment.” There’s also a little smiley face.

“Funny,” Bucky says dryly, his mouth twisting upwards.

Pietro’s smile doesn’t falter. “You’ve never seen my prices, Bucky. Ask Nat, this is a very expensive present.”

Natasha perks up at that and swats Bucky’s arm with the back of her hand to have a look at the envelope. Her eyes widen. She smirks, looking at Pietro.

“If I had known a pretty face was all it took to get free appointments.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Thank you, Pietro. Very thoughtful. Must have taken you hours.”

“Happy birthday, baby,” Pietro says, not that loud, but loud enough for anyone close to Bucky to hear it too. People standing a couple of feet by his left, for example.

And if that wasn’t enough, Pietro rubs at Bucky’s throat with a thumb and presses a kiss to his cheek. Bucky blushes. He shivers all over. Pietro is European and that’s what they do there, Bucky sternly reminds himself.

He can feel Steve’s eyes boring into him but maybe Bucky wouldn’t be this flustered if someone would finally have sex with him, so he’s not exactly blameless here.

Pietro doesn’t overstay his welcome. He probably can tell he’s riled up Steve. He might have done it on purpose, Bucky couldn’t be sure. Pietro was always a mystery and a half to Bucky, someone too good to be real, to be thought of as a regular human being with feelings and memories. He was always some sort of dream that Bucky could touch and talk to, not someone. Another reason that their relationship didn’t work out, to go on the ever-growing list.

Bucky smiles, thanks him and waves. Pietro disappears in the small crowd, except it’s forever easy to spot that silver hair. Natasha doesn’t give the envelope back. Bucky looks back at where she was standing, just a second ago, to see that she found her way back to Clint on the other side of the room. He sighs.

“Baby?” Steve inquires innocently, like hasn’t been reeling since he heard Pietro say it.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “He calls that every single person he meets. I’m not special.”

“He doesn’t call _me_ baby,” Steve objects.

“Yeah, well, maybe you could be nicer to him and then he might.”

Steve glares at him. Bucky glares right back.

“Nothing is going on,” Bucky says because he knows perfectly well where this is going, “we’re just friends. That’s him being friendly.”

Steve puts his hands in his pockets and hunches forward, with an angry huff of breath.

“Do you have a problem with me and Pietro being friends?”

Steve shakes his head, then twists to the side of Bucky, walking off. Bucky scoffs. The silence treatment, how mature.

He follows Steve to the bar area where Steve gets another lemonade and Bucky orders an old fashioned. He knocks it back, staring at Steve’s profile.

“You are an oddity, you know that? You don’t make any sense.”

Steve finally looks back at him, his eyes narrowed in anger. His chest puffs up. Bucky licks the bitterness of his drink off his lips. If only Steve would push him around a little, back him into a wall, use that dark, low voice again and make him his again. But he stands there, stock still, with a fucking lemonade in his hand.

Oh. He’s not drinking. He’s not drinking because he’s driving. He took the bike. Bucky grins. This could have a much better ending than he had expected.

“I’m tired, let’s go back.”

Steve raises an eyebrow.

“It’s my birthday,” Bucky argues, “you gotta.”

“I do?”

“I made you pancakes on your birthday. No, actually, it was crepes and that was delicious. Least you can do is return the favor.”

Steve finally cracks, if just a little and nods. He finishes his drink and pushes off the bar from where he was leaning, all the strong muscles in his back tensing. Bucky shivers and follows.

*****

Bucky’s legs aren’t being the most obedient. He trips over his own shoes, then his socks. Steve, who only had a beer the whole evening, follows behind him, his hands hovering by Bucky’s sides, as if he’s a toddler taking his first steps. Bucky grumbles what he hopes comes out as something insulting and turns around. Steve stops this little routine of ‘Bucky needs my help, and I will light this whole place on fire if he asks me to’ and looks at him. Bucky hates it, hates him. He pushes him down on the couch behind him and straddles his lap.

Like this, Steve can’t escape him. He’s trapped, encaged in an embrace Bucky wishes he craved as much as him. But maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s too late, Bucky took too long, and Steve lost all interest. But it’s there a chance, even in the slightest, of course he’ll try. He’s not letting go.

He presses his palms on Steve shoulders. Feather light touch that he hopes conveys everything unfurling under his chest. This man, this man under him, how much he aches for him…It should be impossible. Just to have his eyes on him feels like a blessing, something godsent and unearned. Who is Bucky to receive all this, over and over?

But Steve stops him. It’s not a true rejection, Bucky knows that much, but it still cuts, right into his heart, as if he’d have bared it to Steve by reaching beneath his skin, under his bones and pulled it right out. Steve holds his wrist in his hand. His grip is steady. He won’t let go. He won’t let Bucky try and give him as much as he always takes.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. “Steve, look at me,” he asks. His voice is too rough, too aggressive. He can’t help it. He doesn’t know how to do this, how to ask for relief, for whatever it is that live in their souls, that only the other is capable of recognizing.

Steve lifts his head. His eyes, blue, deep, so deep and perfect, look up in inquiry. Now, he is always so ready to listen, so ready to offer whatever he believes he refrained from giving, before. How steadily he wants to prove himself. Show himself as trustworthy, as capable, because he believes the fault lies with him. Bucky wants to reach within him and untangle all the knots there. Lie him down flat and smoothed. Fixed.

“It’s you and it’s me. The rest is bullshit. I want this. Tell me you don’t and I’ll stop.”

Steve breathes in sharply but turns away from him. Bucky presses his thumb in, right under Steve’s collarbones.

“Steve, come on.” He tilts Steve’s head toward him. He bends down a bit more. “Easy question there, pal. All I need is a yes or no answer.”

Bucky watches Steve’s Adam’s apple go up and down as he swallows. Bucky only wants to understand. He knows he’s hurt Steve, he knows his scars run just as deep, maybe even worse. Steve won’t ever bleed on anyone, even if he knows he’s slowly dying. It was always up to Bucky to check on him, to make sure all his wounds were clean and bandaged. He wonders who took that place all these months where they didn’t see each other. Was it Sam? Was it Winnifred? Was it no one at all? And if that’s the case, why can’t he just let him go back to his favorite role? Just let him patch him up.

“It’s me, Steve,” he says again, for good measure.

He kisses his brow, the curve there, follows it to his cheek. He keeps his mouth close, barely presses his lips against Steve's skin. He wants Steve to know he’s right there, he’s ready, but he won’t rush him, won’t make any demands.

Steve is so still. He lets go of Bucky’s wrist and both his hands end up on either side of Bucky’s thighs, palms down, a couple of inches away. A true show of surrender.

“You’re right, Buck,” he whispers by Bucky’s ear, “you’re the one for me. So, I don’t mind waiting. We’re doing this right. I’m not skipping any steps.”

Bucky groans as loudly as he can into Steve’s ear. Steve actually moves away with gritted teeth. Bucky bites the top of his shoulder.

“You’ll see,” Steve assures, “it’ll be so worth it. We were good together, but now we’ll be so great. I promise you, sweetheart.”

Bucky closes his eyes and presses his cheek on Steve’s shoulder. He runs his hands on Steve’s arms, up and down, as lightly as possible. “What I’m hearing is that you want to make it good for both of us but I’m not enjoying this at all.”

Steve laughs, a low rumble of his chest. Bucky can’t help follow it with his fingers splayed, dragging them across the fabric. Steve could just take his shirt off. It would still be platonic. Just a little skin on skin means nothing between pals, right?

“I love you,” Steve says, calm as ever, which makes the declaration a thousand times more brutal. Bucky feels the weight of every word right on his skin. He feels branded by each of them.

It would be so easy, to give himself over. To accept that absolute truth. He has never stopped loving Steve, no matter how much he hated him, how hard he tried to forget him, to remove him from his memories and forge a new life for himself. This sort of love, sublime, deep, heavy like the Earth, it can’t be undone. It colors everything. But tonight, it feels too raw, too bright. It would destroy his insides and he would never be whole again.

Bucky gets up instead.

“Buck,” Steve says but it’s barely a whisper.

“It’s late,” Bucky says firmly, “I think you should go home.”

Steve’s brow furrows but he nods. “Is that what you want?”

Of course, it’s not and they both know it, but Bucky can’t bear that burden. If Steve wants to be top of the self-sacrificing class, Bucky will give over the award without a second thought.

“Yeah,” he rasps. His throat dried up in the past couple of minutes. His head is dizzy. Alcohol is already catching up with him.

Steve stands. His shirt is barely rumpled. He runs a hand in his hair and comes a foot closer. For a second, Bucky thinks he’ll finally get what he so desperately wants but Steve doesn’t even hug him. Doesn’t even touch him.

“Happy birthday, Bucky.”

“It’s past midnight, it’s not my birthday anymore,” Bucky says, as a last effort to get any reaction at all.

Steve nods again, finds his jacket in the dark. Bucky hadn’t even realized until then that they never bothered to turn on the lights. The door opens then closes. Bucky waits. He counts to ten, then twenty, then a hundred, his fist pushed into his mouth with as much force he can withstand. When he’s a hundred percent sure that Steve is gone, he lets out a scream. He falls to the floor and screams until his voice is hoarse.

*****

“So,” Bucky starts, “Steve still won’t fuck me.”

Claire, who by now knows Bucky fairly well, nods patiently.

“I have no idea what other sort of stupid proof he needs to just get to it. We’re both in therapy. We’re talking basically every day. He even said he loved me. But if I try to kiss him, even just a peck, it’s only: no, business is closed.”

Bucky empties his lungs and waits until his stomach is rising before he speaks again.

“It’s just so easy for him. He says it all the time, that he loves me. I haven’t said it back since…God, since our second anniversary. That was the week before I served him with the divorce papers. Almost two years ago now. But he keeps saying it anyway.”

Claire is still, waiting.

“And you know what? Fuck him. _Fuck_ him. Like it means anything. He’s got all these lines.” He gestures vaguely with his free hand in annoyance. “He just has it so easy. All the goddamn time. I can’t stand him.”

“Is there a particular reason you won’t say it back to him?”

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, because I hate his guts.”

Claire stares at him.

“If I say it back,” he grumbles, “then he’ll have it all. I’m already throwing myself at him every time I see him. But love…There’s no going back to pretending. He’ll know for sure.”

“Do you feel more comfortable, withholding your love for him, from him?”

Bucky feels like this is going to end up in a lesson, somehow and he really doesn’t want to hear it. He shrugs. “Maybe. He won’t fuck me, so that’s only fair.”

“He’s withholding physical intimacy from you, so you’re levelling the field by withholding emotional intimacy from him?” she asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Listen, I think I’ve established enough that he’s an asshole, alright? I’m not playing some fucked-up mind game here. We’re not together. We don’t even kiss! I’m not about to admit that I love him…for what, exactly? He knows anyway. Of course, he knows.”

“When he says it to you, when he tells you he loves you, how does it make you feel?”

Bucky crosses his arms and looks down. He feels like a scolded child right now. “It’s nice,” he says, then groans, “I know he wants to hear it too, I’m not an idiot. That’s why I won’t say it back.”

“You want to stay in control of what’s happening between the both of you, this time around.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to take from that.

“Bucky,” Claire says gently, “what happened to you, when you were at war…”

Not this again. “It has nothing to do with Steve, now.”

“I know,” she admits politely, “but you lost a whole year of your life. You were taken, away from your family, your memories were compromised. Then, when you came back, you had a hard time dealing with unexpected situations and stressful times, which is comprehensible. You needed a lot of guidance in making decisions, as you stated before, because you doubted yourself, you doubted your own control on your reality. Now, you are struggling with this new relationship that doesn’t quite fit the old one and you are trying to assert control wherever you can.”

“If you’re going to tell me that love is the one thing I can’t control,” he mumbles mournfully.

“No,” Claire says with a smile, “I’m sure you’re very aware of this. I was going to ask you though, why do you believe that Steve is insisting on waiting for your relationship to become physical? It’s obviously already a romantic relationship. What is holding him back, in your eyes?”

Bucky shrugs. “Fuck knows. Could be anything at this point. I’m sure he doesn’t really know himself. He’s just being a dick.”

“Maybe that’s a good place to start. Maybe it would make you a lot more comfortable to discuss what you both want from the relationship and where you both stand.”

“It always goes back to talking about your feelings with you, huh?”

Claire chuckles and puts her hands up. “Now, that’s a therapy trick. I admit that.”

Bucky smiles back. He’s been to therapy for this long, it has to be good for something.

*****

Being strictly platonic friends with Steve has started to become increasingly hard. Bucky is doing the therapy. He’s going through the motions. Most of it sucks. Most days, he just feels so drained after his session, he can barely to get home and sleep it off. Now, really, he feels more than ready to jump into something stupid with Steve. Something like jumping into bed. Something like jumping on Steve’s dick in bed.

But Steve, somehow, is the one that is the most reluctant. It’s been over three months since Steve made his interest very clear and since then, he’s rejected every single of Bucky’s advances. It’s starting to drive Bucky insane.

And also, Bucky is sort of running out of platonic activities to do with Steve. He can’t stand too close, he’s become all too aware of where Steve’s body is pressed up against his, whenever that happens. If they sit next to each other on the couch, their knees touching, Bucky feels lit on fire. The smallest of touches sets him off. He’s starting to believe Steve is particularly amused by Bucky’s restlessness and increasing horniness.

Bucky really doesn’t know where they’re going. If they’re even going anywhere. Since his disastrous party, he hasn’t brought up anything remotely romantic or sexual. He’s starting to feel like either Steve is torturing as a weird payback for the divorce or has completely lost interest. Except they’re always hanging out, so there must be something left, somewhere. Bucky just doesn’t know to find it. So, he waits.

He invites Steve over to bake some bread. Because, at this point, why the fuck not? Bucky has started to get really into baking and that’s the perfect type of platonic activities; no facing each other, easy to stay six platonic feet apart and not even that much talking required. 

Something clatters at Steve’s side and Bucky looks up begrudgingly. Steve is staring right at him with the stupidest grin on his face, the kind he keeps only for Bucky, to deliver his dumbest ideas with the utmost confidence. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“What?” he mutters, focusing back on his bread kneading.

“Go out with me, Buck,” Steve declares, and it definitely doesn’t sound like a question.

“Now? It’s pouring. What do you want to do outside? You can do something else if you’re so bored…”

“No.” Steve shakes his head like Bucky is the idiot. “Go out with me. On a date.”

Every single one of Bucky’s muscle freezes in its place. This feels like a trap. “What,” he repeats, dumbfounded.

Steve turns so he’s completely facing Bucky. Bucky kneads stubbornly, not looking at him.

“Let me take you out. A real date. We’ve never been on a date.”

Bucky frowns. “We were together for seventeen years. I hope we at least went on one date.”

“Yeah, exactly. I never got to take you out. So, let me.”

“We’ve also been divorced for almost two years. I hate to remind you.”

Bucky looks up only for a second. He’s met with that open-eyed expression he hates loving so much. He gets his fingers back into the dough.

“Bucky,” Steve says firmly. He lays a hand on Bucky’s waist. It takes a lot of strength for Bucky to hold on to the dough and not turn around.

“I want to make this work so bad,” Steve continues then puts his other hand on the other side of Bucky’s hip and spins him around. Bucky pointedly wipes his flour covered hands on Steve’s chest. “And so do you. We communicate. We talk about our feelings.”

“Gross,” Bucky says with a smile, his hands finding their way up to hold on to the back of Steve’s neck.

“We can do this. Properly, this time.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side. “Does that mean we can make out now?”

“That’s not the type of man I am, Buck. I don’t put out before the date has even started.”

“Huh,” Bucky mocks, “a lot of talk from someone who grabbed my shirt and pulled me down to kiss me, then proceeded to blow me right there and then, in a very public locker room, as soon as he turned sixteen.”

Steve smiles brightly. “That guy does sound like a good time. Too bad I’m not him anymore though.”

Bucky presses closer. “If I say yes, do I get one kiss?”

Steve seems to consider this for a minute, tapping a finger on his chin. Asshole. Bucky pinches his collarbone. He chuckles.

“Alright, one kiss.”

“Some could say this is bribery. I worked with lawyers for a long enough time to know this.”

“I’m hearing no answer to my very simple question here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. Date me, Steve. Dinner and a movie, whatever you want. Happy, now?”

He moves forward to meet Steve’s lips. God, he’s missed this. He closes his eyes gently when he feels a kiss being pressed into his forehead.

“God fucking help me,” Bucky mutters.

“I said one kiss.” Steve grins. “If the date is nice, you might get lucky.”

“So, you _do_ put out on the first date?”

“Afterwards, yeah, maybe.”

“I always knew you were a bit of a floozy,” Bucky mocks with a smile.

Steve smiles back but then. He steps back. Bucky schools his features into showing not too much disappointment. He gives one last look to Steve’s over the moon idiotic face and goes back to his dough. Steve doesn’t move. Bucky feels high on the smugness.

“Well? This bread ain’t going to make itself, buddy,” Bucky says, “and if you’re not taking me out right this second, you can help me finish it.”

Bucky looks up at him again, at his stunned expression and snickers. Steve’s shoulders relax and he bumps his hip into Bucky’s. He bumps him right back, then flicks some flour into his hair. Steve retaliates immediately. From then, it’s war. Bucky won’t let up and neither will Steve. Bucky manages to tackle him on the floor once Steve crouches to avoid more attacks from Bucky. He straddles his hips again. There’s a big patch of flour hanging on his cheek. Bucky draws a heart into it.

“Looking good, Rogers.”

“I might have a concussion,” Steve says with a big smile.

“Now you care about concussions, of all times.” Bucky writes punk on his forehead with the leftover flour on his index. “Can you feel that?”

“Jerk,” he says back automatically, rubbing Bucky’s thighs up and down.

“See, you’re fine.”

They sit like this, well Steve lays like this while Bucky sits on him, and they grin at each other, covered in flour and various bits of dough. What had become a beast has been tamed. The simplicity of the moment is awakening in its quietness, in its easiness. Because it has always been like this between them, when they can finally strip away each other’s layers, when they can find each other at their chore, there’s nothing but love and understanding. It was only the way there that they had forgotten about.


	15. The All-Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re kidding,” Bucky says, not asking a question, “you’re fucking kidding. We’re going to wait till the third date? Really?”
> 
> Steve shrugs. “Let’s see how the second date goes first, Buck.”
> 
> Bucky pushes on his chest, maybe a little too hard. Steve stumbles backwards but never stops smiling. 
> 
> “You’re an asshole. You know that? Of course, you know that.”
> 
> “I just want to make it special.”
> 
> Bucky all but growls. “You…I have no words! We’ve been having sex since I was seventeen. You’re thirty-four years old! What is this? Jesus camp?”

It would have been almost cruel of Bucky to ask Pietro to cut his hair for his date with Steve, but now, looking at the bird’s nest on top of his head, Bucky regrets not even trying to find another hairdresser. His hair hasn’t gotten shoulder length again, but it sits awkwardly, too long on the side and impossible to style. In short, he looks awful and Steve will be there any minute now.

He takes a deep breath. At least, he’s dressed nicely. He still doesn’t know where they’re going. Steve had promised something casual, but Bucky knows how badly Steve judges places. He showed up in sneakers to a three-star Michelin French restaurant once and they almost got kicked out. But then, at the time, there were no stupid abstinence rules between them, and Steve had made it up to Bucky by blowing him in the bathroom. For tonight, Bucky is very sure that all he’ll have will be a sympathetic shoulder pat for his troubles.

He considers his navy slacks and his camel suede shoes. He’s wearing a button-down light blue shirt that could be too formal. He grabs a cashmere sweater out of his drawers. That could do it. That also could be too much. What if Steve’s in jeans and a t-shirt? He probably is. Bucky rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can do this. It’s not a big deal. They were together seventeen years. It’s just one date.

It’s too late to back out anyway because the intercom buzzes. Bucky grabs a leather jacket instead and heads down.

Steve didn’t have to pick him up like they’re going to the high school prom. They could have met at the place. He could have ordered Bucky an uber without letting him know about where they were going if he was that hellbent on surprises. But no, not Steve Rogers, king of romance and expert on wooing.

As Bucky goes down the stairs and makes out the blurry silhouette of Steve through the glass door, he thinks that maybe, it’s not all that bad. It’s actually very sweet. It’s not wrong either, that they have never done this before. Back when they were in high school, the most they probably did was taking the train to Coney Island and walk on the beach before hurrying back to Steve’s place to get about half an hour of privacy before his mom would be back.

Bucky pushes the door open and here’s Steve. Not wearing jeans and a t-shirt. That’s an improvement if Bucky’s ever seen any. He’s in fitted black trousers, a button-down and a V-neck cardigan. His hair is sleeked back, he’s clean-shaven, handsome as ever. Bucky can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He clears his throat and straightens as gracefully as he can manage.

“Hey, Steve,” he says, his voice tight and a little muffled. He clears up his throat with more force.

Steve smiles easily. “Hey, Buck, look at you. You’re ready to go?”

Bucky nods. His hand is still on the door handle. He stands about three feet away from Steve. Can they kiss now? Should he ask? Is that all the greeting he’s getting?

“Yeah, I, uh. You look good. As well. Where…We’re walking?” His eyes widen in disbelief at his own awkwardness. He’s seen Steve naked. He knows how to do this.

“The cinema is just a couple blocks over,” Steve says, his grin turning mocking, “remember where the cinema is?”

Bucky huffs. Of course, he remembers where the cinema is. Dinner and a movie usually go in that order though. But he won’t give Steve more smugness ammo, so he gestures in front of him, clearly the way the cinema is.

“Lead the way, then, Casanova.”

Steve chuckles and throws an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky glances at him from the side and narrows his eyes. Steve kisses his temple before letting go. Bucky does _not_ shiver under the touch because he’s got himself under control.

“You’re prickly this evening,” Steve comments happily.

“Fuck off,” Bucky mutters.

“Uh, huh. That’s my guy.”

Bucky puts his hands in his jacket pockets and follows in silence. He stares at the back of Steve’s head as he walks ahead, like he always does, almost whistling and clicking his heels. Bucky can tell that he’s happy and he can’t lie and say that he isn’t, too. This is, unexpectedly, a nice idea. Sitting in the cinema first will help him relax, focus on something else, realize that he’s done this countless times. Steve probably knew that too.

Something warm settles in Bucky’s stomach. They’re really doing this. They’re dating. They’re seducing each other, all over again. He can’t begrudge Steve of his antics anymore. It does make sense, in a way. In a stupid way, sure, but it’s still there.

He walks up to Steve again and laces their fingers together. Steve looks back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m sorry. Thanks for doing this.” He takes Steve’s hand in both of his and rubs the back of Steve’s. Steve keeps his eyes on him like he’s about to get pounced on by a cougar. Bucky smiles. “It’s nice.”

“Sure,” Steve says hesitantly.

“But I still get to pick the movie, right?”

Steve nods, smiling back. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

Bucky puts their linked hands in his jacket and keeps on walking. Steve squeezes his hand, a fond smile blooming on his face. Yeah, it ain’t all that bad.

*****

Bucky goes for a big blockbuster action flick because he knows at least Steve will enjoy it and they can laugh about the plot holes and the overacting. They share a large popcorn like they used to when they were kids and had to save up their allowance to go to the movies. Bucky’s heart swells and swells.

It’s nothing that special. It’s the most basic thing Steve could have planned, really, but it still feels like something brand new. That had worried Bucky a fair amount, the fact that nothing would have changed, that they would walk the same path, make the same stupid mistakes, and only end up figuring out that they didn’t work out as a couple. Again. But this is different. They’re different. They’re shaping up a new direction, a new relationship between them.

Steve then takes them to a late-night restaurant that serves something called fusion cuisine. It’s stupid enough that Bucky loves it straight away. There are neon signs all over the place with cheesy sayings, like live more, worry less and all that crap. The booths are big and comfy, and the food is good. Bucky even convinces Steve to have some tequila shots. It’s Friday night after all and Bucky has plans for their evening.

Bucky kicks Steve’s shin under the table lightly.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hmpf,” Steve gargles while stuffing more mochi balls in his mouth. Bucky giggles around his margarita. Steve does love balls in his mouth.

“Remember that place my dad moved us to, in the 5th grade?”

“Yours or mine?”

“My 5th grade. Before Beth was born. Me, Becs and Alice used to share that closet room with the huge ceilings, remember that? With the stacked-up beds. We used to hang the sheets from the top bunk and pretend we were in a castle.”

Steve grins as the memory hits him all over. “Yeah, used to drive your ma crazy. You’d climb up and down the sheets like a mountain goat.”

“I forgot about that. Yeah, it looked like a real tower back then. I bet it wasn’t higher than maybe three feet. Anyway. So, you remember that place? Remember that fire escape there, how we climbed it to the top floor without telling anyone and watched the fireworks from there, that year, and your ma yelled at us for so long her whole face turned red?”

“Yeah. Yeah, course I do.” Steve smiles, swallowing around the ball whole. “Why?” he asks with his mouth full.

“That’s the first time I thought about what it’d be like to kiss you.”

Steve chokes on his dessert, the tip of his ears turning red. He coughs, tapping a hand on his chest. “At ten years old?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. Remember Georgie Cooper? The little redhead that was just as scrawny as you, in your grade?”

“Yeah. He got married this year.”

“Did he? Well, that summer, he told me all about kissing girls and what I should expect. And the whole time, I couldn’t imagine it. I even asked my ma about it. She said I’d figure it out when I’m older. But then, we watched the fireworks on the fire escape, and you kept going “ooh!” and “aah!” at them like it was the first time you had ever seen fireworks. The whole time, I couldn’t stop staring at your mouth.”

Steve chuckles. “How embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up. And I thought about my ma, and I thought that maybe it wasn’t kissing that was the problem. Maybe it was the girls.”

Steve doesn’t stop smiling, looking down at his almost empty plate. He cuts the last remaining ball in quarters. “So, I was your gay awakening, huh? Just nine years old and already irresistible.”

“Already a pain in my ass, more like,” Bucky says with a huff, “I was grounded for two weeks after that. Even though you assured me that no one would notice we were gone.”

Steve hums around his last mouthful. “You wanna know when I started thinking about you like that?”

“About ten seconds before you kissed me in senior year?”

Steve shakes his head. “Even I’m not that impulsive.”

Bucky leans back against the leather seat, spreading his arm on one side.

“My freshman year. You were so different, in high school, from middle school. I felt like I didn’t see you for a whole year and I get to high school and you’ve grown so much. You were a football player, too. And I had this girlfriend, remember her? God, what was her name? Ashley, or something?”

“Or something,” Bucky mutters. He remembers her perfectly. Steve doesn’t need to know about that.

“Yeah.” Steve’s smile turns indulgent. “I liked her, I really did, so it didn’t make sense to me, that when I first saw you in the hallway, with that stupid jersey you wore everywhere, and those shoulders that couldn’t be real and I just wanted to set my teeth in them. I wanted to strip you out of it and just take you apart. Of course, I had no idea how to do that.”

Bucky grins. “It took you two years to plan your attack?”

“I had to make sure you’d want me back. I couldn’t lose you as a friend. If I had known you had a crush on me for years…”

“Oh, I should have never said that.”

“Just pining for me in secret since you were ten years old…”

“I’m leaving right now. I’m getting the check on my way out.”

Steve manages to trap Bucky’s hands between his and snickers. He’s so beautiful, so content to just sit in front of Bucky, that something relaxes, deep under Bucky’s skin. Nothing would feel that good if it weren’t meant to be.

“Yeah, let’s get the check,” Steve says, his voice low and dark.

This time, Bucky lets himself shiver in anticipation.

*****

Steve walks by his side right up to his building door. Bucky reaches out with two fingers and slips them behind Steve’s palm that hangs out of his front jean pocket. He tugs lightly to get his hand out and hold it but Steve resists. They come to a stop once they’re outside the door.

Bucky leans on the glass frame, not letting go of his half hold on him. Steve looks up with a small smile and swipes at his hair to push it back down. Bucky follows the gesture with his free hand, resting his thumb on Steve’s forehead.

“So,” he starts softly, “I had a great time tonight.”

Steve avoids his eyes then, all shy and coy and Bucky wants to eat him.

“Me too, Buck,” he replies quietly, so quiet that Bucky barely hears him.

Bucky traces the curve of his cheek then cups his jaw, tilting his face up. Steve can play the blushing virgin all he wants, Bucky went through every stupid motion that he set up. This is his reward now. He brings their mouths together, gently at first, just a light brush. If this is all about taking their time, Bucky can play along. Steve sighs, holding onto Bucky’s waist, almost keeping him at bay. Bucky licks at his lower lip, urging him to let him in and he does, like he always does, like Bucky perfectly remembers.

Bucky cradles Steve’s face with both hands, pulling him forward, so they’re pressed right against the door. The knob hits his back in the worst way possible, but Bucky can feel the heat of Steve’s body, finally, _finally_ , and he can ignore that for now. He finds himself ravenous, desperate to feel more of Steve. He scrambles for his key fob to let them in without stepping away, but Steve finds his wandering hand and stops him. He pushes on Bucky’s chest and they break apart.

“I had a great time, but I’m not coming up,” Steve says firmly.

Bucky has to blink a couple times to arrange his last few functioning brain cells. “Say that again?”

“I’ll let you know when I get home,” Steve assures, taking another step back, another step away from Bucky.

Bucky resists the urge to pull him right back. He stares at Steve’s face, trying to find the telltale sign that he’s about to yell “Prank!” There aren’t any. Steve is serious as death.“You’re kidding,” Bucky says, not asking a question, “you’re fucking kidding. We’re going to wait till the third date? Really?”

Steve shrugs. “Let’s see how the second date goes first, Buck.”

Bucky pushes on his chest, maybe a little too hard. Steve stumbles backwards but never stops smiling.

“You’re an asshole. You know that? Of course, you know that.”

“I just want to make it special.”

Bucky all but growls. “You…I have no words! We’ve been having sex since I was seventeen. You’re thirty-four years old! What is this? Jesus camp?”

“Bucky,” Steve says with a sigh.

“We had sex at war. Back when that was illegal sex. Underage sex, too when I turned eighteen and you were seventeen. But what now, we have to wait for what?”

“We never had illegal sex.”

“So now we’re going to get technical.”

Steve shakes his head. “I had a great time tonight. I liked walking you home. You have a goodnight, Buck.”

Bucky is too shocked to protest more. He stands by his door, probably looking sexy as hell, all mussed up and flushed, watching Steve walk toward Bushwick. What a waste of an outfit. He blows out an angry, frustrated breath and turns around to let himself in, alone. Luckily, he can still jerk off.

*****

Bucky has somehow managed to form a pretty solid relationship with Peter Parker. Stark’s head PA, turns out, is a decent guy to hang out with and they have a lot more in common than Bucky previously imagined. They’re both half Jewish for one, both really into science and cheap sci-fi and they both can use a guilty cigarette that no one needs to know about when the day gets too much.

Bucky blows out what he tries to make rings. Peter snickers and tries it out but fails just as miserably. They elbow each other as they keep on their efforts. Bucky is the first to push out a half decent circle and Peter finishes his cigarette without luck.

“You know,” Peter says, clearing his throat, “you still haven’t replied to the email about the directors’ retreat.”

Bucky winces. “The what now? Don’t tell me it’s mandatory because I’ll have to jump out here,” he says, pointing down. Given they’re standing on the 50th floor terrace, it’d be a clean, nice end.

Peter shrugs. “Nothing’s ever mandatory but they’d give you the stink eye if you didn’t come, for sure. You’re the newest director, too. You can bring a plus one. It’s just two days.”

Bucky considers if Natasha would come with again. For a short second, asking Steve to come goes through his mind. Maybe that’d be too official. Maybe it would woo Steve into remembering what sex is like, though, and that’d be nice, for once.

“When is it?”

“First weekend of May.”

Oh great, their forsaken anniversary.

“Let me check my calendar,” Bucky says quickly, pulling out his phone, “April 30th or May 7th?”

“Second one. Can you make it?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. Can’t think of any excuse right now but I could find one.”

“There’s a spa,” Peter says, like it makes any difference.

“Will you be there?”

Peter nods, pursing his lips. “I’m always around, you know that. What about the plus one?”

At least, it would be after the forsaken anniversary. It’s also in three weeks. Maybe by then, Bucky would have managed to have sex with Steve, and they could enjoy a weekend getaway with a little corporate bonding bullshit on top.

“Yeah, put me down as a plus one,” Bucky says with a sigh, “you gotta go back in now?”

“Nah.” Peter pulls out his pack from his inner pocket. “Another one?”

Bucky shrugs. “In celebration of the upcoming disaster of that retreat, yeah, why not.”

*****

Bucky decides that it’s not only Steve that can just waltz in other people’s workplaces. Bucky also knows where Steve works. It’s only fair that he does it this time.

He leaves the Stark Industries floors and googles where Coulson’s Designs resides. He finds the reception area easily and maybe the sleek suit helps or the way he walks like he belongs there, but no one stops him. Maybe it’s not that hard to break in professional spaces.

At the desk, he recognizes Kate, Clint’s protégé from SHIELD and has to let the information circle in his brain twice before he speaks.

“Oh, hey, Bucky!” she says happily.

“Kate,” Bucky replies dumbly, “you work here now?”

Does everyone from SHIELD work here now? Does Clint? Could he have been this oblivious to massive career changes?

“Yeah,” Kate says with a bright smile, “it’s been a couple of months. I’m trying to turn Clint over to the civilian side. It hasn’t taken so far.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. Anything’s possible, really, considering Steve is doing it. Bucky clears his throat. “Yeah, good luck with that. Rogers around?”

Kate’s smile turns more knowing. “Got an appointment? Mr. Rogers’s a busy guy.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that. He’s a director at Stark Industries and he still takes lunch. Maybe he should have called ahead. How did Steve manage to find him at appropriate times, both times, and the one time he needs to see Steve, he’s busy? He sighs.

“I’m not far, so I thought I’d get him something to eat. I’ll text him.”

Kate nods, apologizes, and waves him away. Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling like a scolded child and walks toward the door.

But Bucky does have a lucky star somewhere because he bumps right into Steve’s shoulder as he’s about to open the door. Bucky looks up at Steve, dressed for work and slightly disheveled, as if he walked up instead of going in the elevator like a normal person.

“Oh, hey, Buck,” Steve says with a wide smile, “coming to see my office?”

“You owed me a tour,” Bucky replies, looking down at his shoes. He notices that Steve is holding a salad box and a plastic cup of iced tea. “If you had plans, I could always come back.”

“No, don’t worry. Did you have lunch already? I was just going to eat in here, I have this project to finish, but I can spare you half an hour.”

“How generous of you.”

“I can walk you up to the bagel place, too. It’s a nice day, we can eat outside.”

“Sure, Rogers, why not.”

Steve leads the way up to the top floor. It’s still early enough that the restaurant isn’t packed, and they manage to find seats under the shade. Steve digs into his salad while Bucky unwraps his bagel. For a moment or two, they eat in comfortable silence.

“Come to my place this Friday?” Bucky asks suddenly.

Steve grins, but shakes his head. Bucky tilts his head back, staring at the sky in exasperation. “For a date!” he says, too loud, “I’ll make you dinner, we can watch a movie. We don’t have to fuck. Christ, you’re annoying. Were you always this annoying and I just forgot? So goddamn stubborn.”

Steve chuckles, because he’s an asshole and Bucky should cash in his chips now and run for the door. “Sure, Buck, sounds good.”

“You can even bring your chastity belt with you too, I guess,” he grumbles.

To Bucky’s surprise, Steve puts two fingers to his chin and brings their mouths together in a kiss. It’s short lived but it’s still something.

“You’re cute when you don’t get what you want. All pouty. I’ll be there, princess, I promise.”

Bucky narrows his eyes into a glare. “I do not…”

“You’re pouting right now,” Steve cuts him, “I gotta go back, Buck. I’ll see you Friday.”

“Yeah, whatever. Hey, I need to ask you something before you go. You doing anything the weekend of the 7th?”

Steve gets up and ponders the question for a second before answering. “Don’t think so. Why, planning to take me away?”

“Keep it open and we’ll see about that. Come for 2000 on Friday. I’ll cook.”

Steve bends down to press another quick kiss to Bucky’s lips, cupping Bucky’s chin in his big hand. Bucky closes his eyes on instinct. Do they do that now? They can kiss whenever they feel like it? At least, that’s some improvement.

“I’ll be there,” Steve promises as he walks away.

Bucky stays where he is until he’s finished with his bagel. Until his heartbeat has quietened to a normal pace and he can be sure he’ll be able to focus on whatever math problem he has to deal with today.

*****

Bucky goes all out for his date with Steve. He talks about it at length with Claire and he even admits that ok, maybe, it’s for the best to take things slow with Steve, because of all their history and their shared trauma or whatever therapy lingo she used. If Steve can try his hand at romance, so can Bucky.

He cooks a seafood risotto, everything from scratch, with some tiramisu for dessert. There’s a good bottle of dry white wine he had been saving for some time. He thinks about lighting up some candles but then even him can see that he’s going too far. He settles for dimming the lights and playing some quiet and slow R&B instead of something cliché like jazz. This is romantic and this is authentic, something they can both enjoy.

He’s only slightly crawling out of his skin by the time Steve gets to his door. Altogether, he’s doing much better than last time.

Steve is dressed casually, his usual jeans and flannel shirt, but it’s always his bright eyes and his easy smile that gets Bucky like nothing else. It doesn’t help that this time, Steve closes the distance between them by grabbing Bucky’s neck and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It definitely is something they do now. Bucky gasps but Steve pulls away, chaste as a nun, and rubs his thumb on Bucky’s throat instead.

“Hey, Buck, smells great. What’s that cooking?”

It takes a second for Bucky to remember how to form words, still holding to Steve’s waist. “Risotto. D’you…You want wine? I’ve got, uh, there’s glasses.”

Steve smirks, too smug and kisses Bucky again. It starts off just as slow, almost inquiring, like a first kiss. Bucky feels it in his toes, the heat, Steve’s body, his wet mouth, his strong arms around him. God, he loves this man. He’ll never know love like this again.

But Steve steps away and walks over to the dressed-up table. Again, this is something they never did while they were married. Most food Bucky’s ever cooked for Steve was probably scrambled eggs and bacon. The rest of their daily meals was takeout eaten in bed, naked, because Bucky was always so desperate to always have his hands on Steve while he was home, just to make sure, just to make the most of their time together.

“You did all this for me? You’re spoiling me, Buck.”

“Yeah, you barely deserve it too,” Bucky says coming up behind him and circling his arms around his waist. He hooks his chin on Steve’s big shoulder and kisses his neck lightly. “You smell good. I missed you.”

“In three days?”

Bucky tightens his hold and hums against Steve’s t-shirt.

“You’re sweet today.”

“Only got yourself to blame for that, Rogers. Come on, don’t let my gourmet meal get cold. Took me ages.”

Bucky lets go of Steve and grabs the opened bottle of wine to pour them two glasses. He gestures at the seat by his left for Steve to sit. He plates the food as if he were going to be featured on the next Chef’s Table episode and sits down too.

The tension creeps back up his body again and he can’t help it. He feels choked by it. Steve compliments his food, makes stupid comments that would usually make Bucky laugh but he feels half frozen in space, hanging in between worlds. Half there and half somewhere else, somewhere painful and detestable. Somehow, he can’t seem to find his way back.

“Buck? Are you ok?” Steve asks after he stayed silent for too long.

Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know. This feels weird, in a way, right? It’s not just me?”

Steve looks down at his plate, pushing his food around thoughtfully. “What do you mean, weird?”

Bucky finds himself even more frustrated. He has no words, he doesn’t know really, what just went wrong, but all of sudden, he can’t take it.

“We’re dating,” Bucky says, as a sort of explanation. It all sounds hysterical to him now. They broke up, they both dated other people, fucked around for a while and it went nowhere and now what? Now, what?

“Yeah, Buck, we are,” Steve says slowly, like he’s trying to come up with smaller words to explain a simple concept to a child.

“But it’s weird, right? We got a divorce. Now, we’re dating. We’re like a cheap Liz Taylor and Dick Burton. Isn’t that crazy?”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Are you having a good time, right now?”

Bucky swallows. That doesn’t change anything about the insanity of the situation. If anything, that makes it worse. What was he thinking? Why did he agree to any of this?

“Bucky, look at me,” Steve orders gently. Bucky does, relaxing his grip on his fork and knife. He rubs his sweaty palms on his thighs. “Do you want this, yes or no? Easy question, pal.”

Bucky hates to have his own words thrown back at him. He rubs at his own temples and blows out a long breath. Steve takes another forkful of food in his mouth and waits patiently.

“You know I do.” Bucky holds on to the hair that hangs on his forehead but refuses to call bangs, swiping it back again. “Shouldn’t we talk more? I have no idea what I’m doing. Do you?”

Steve sighs. “We can talk about whatever you want, Buck. We’ve got time. You don’t have to rush anything.”

Bucky stares at him. Why the sigh? Why is he acting like he’s got all the answers, like always, like Bucky is just an unreasonable child that needs to be talked through his feelings? Bucky feels a hot flash of anger rise in his chest.

“Anything I want? Even Peggy? You’ll talk about that, fully open?”

Steve doesn’t reply. His hold on his fork tightens. He takes a sip of his wine and tilts his head toward the ceiling.

Bucky pushes anyway. “Did you love her?”

“Bucky,” Steve says with another sigh.

Bucky stubbornly stares on. He shrugs. “I want to know. Just tell me.”

“This is hardly second date conversation material.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “When will you stop that? Answer the question.”

Steve pushes his empty plate forward and puts both his elbows on the table. He crosses his arms there, leaning forward. He stares at the plate, his brow furrowed. Bucky swallows. He doesn’t know why he keeps pushing. He shouldn’t really, should take a boundary where it is, when he sees one, but they can’t keep swiping things under the carpet and hope for the best. If it didn’t work the first time around, there’s a reason.

“Do you think she loved you?” he asks, even quieter.

Steve takes a deep breath, licks his lips, looks away. He’s embarrassed, Bucky can tell, but he’s not sure about what. Is it the cheating? Is it leading her on? Is it losing a good friend?

Bucky curls a hand around Steve’s neck and scratches behind his ear. “You can tell me. I’m not mad about it anymore. It’s ok.”

Steve finally meets his eyes, his stare steadier, firmer. “Are you sure? Why do you ask if you’re not mad?”

“I just want to know. I’ve never asked you before. We can close this book, I promise, but I want the full picture first.”

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry again, because it’s pointless. You’re sure about this?”

Bucky nods, only a little weakly and Steve inhales and exhales sharply.

“Ok, then, I’ll tell you. I didn’t love her. I cared for her a whole lot, that’s why I ended it, but it wasn’t enough. I tried to focus on her, I really did, gave it a real shot. She just…” He shrugs, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “She wasn’t you, Buck, I don’t know what else to say.”

“She never told you? That she loved you?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. I think, maybe she did, or maybe it was just a stupid crush that went on for too long. I don’t know. We barely talked if I’m honest. We were together, officially, maybe two months? Two months and a half? I was such a wreck, I didn’t know which way was up most days and she took that on, you know? She had to deal with that. I was so depressed, and I had no idea, I thought it was just heartbreak, that it’d go away after a while. The numbness, it settles. You barely realize it’s there if you let it go on long enough.”

Bucky’s throat tightens. He knows, remotely, that he didn’t cause that much sorrow. He didn’t give Steve depression. He didn’t make him go through years of untreated PTSD and anxiety. That’s not his burden to bear. But he didn’t see it. The whole time, when he had promised Steve in sickness and in health, he had walled himself off. They had both suffered for so long, in complete silence, just to protect each other from more heartbreak. And then, when the dam finally broke when Bucky finally walked out, Steve drowned. Again, Bucky wasn’t there. And now, what does he even do for him? Except complain and rile him up? Or trying to find some cracks in the wall to tear down the foundation again?

Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s bicep and squeezes. Steve looks up and has a shadow of a smile. He turns his head to kiss Bucky’s knuckles.

“This is going to make me sound like such an asshole, but I knew I was going to break up with her from this one morning. I woke up and she was already awake. I didn’t move for a couple seconds and she was just…petting my hair, pushing it back. I opened my eyes, and she was staring at me. It was so gentle. I could see it in her eyes, what she was making of this. I was a mess. I couldn’t give her what she wanted from me. She left for some assignment and next time I saw her was at the New Year’s party. I had to do it. It sucked.”

Bucky sips on his wine. “You’re not an asshole. At least you broke up with her. The shit I did to Pietro…Anyway. You didn’t have to tell me. I, uh, I appreciate it.”

Steve clinks their glasses together. “Yeah, look at us. Communicating.”

Bucky smiles. “First time for everything, huh?”

Bucky takes out the dessert and the conversation goes to easier topics. Bucky’s nagging part of his brain that tells him a disaster is imminent even starts to quieten. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s because it’s not that hard to date Steve. Result is the same, by the end of the meal, Bucky doesn’t want to let Steve go.

They stand by the couch, awkward as can be, Steve halfway into trying to put his coat on, Bucky halfway into taking it off again.

“Just sleep here,” Bucky says, “we don’t have to do anything. It’ll be just like Christmas. Come on.”

Steve is slowly cracking down. “Just to sleep?”

“Cross my heart,” Bucky promises immediately, signing on his chest.

Steve takes off his coat again, smoothing it down on the back of the couch. “I don’t even have pajamas.”

“Oh no, what will you ever do without pajamas,” Bucky deadpans. Steve pushes on his chest and Bucky lets out a bright laugh. “Come here, you idiot.”

Bucky grabs onto Steve’s elbows and pulls him forward into his arms. He runs his hands from Steve’s pecs to his neck to his face. He rubs his thumb on his jawline. A real piece of goddamn art that face is. Bucky has been staring at it for all his life and he’s not even bored of it. He presses a kiss to his mouth, once then another time. Steve tightens his hold on his waist, running his hands up his back, one even finding its way under Bucky’s t-shirt.

Bucky separates them with a firm hand. “Hey now, what was that about just sleeping?”

“You’re not sleeping in this, are you?” Steve asks, smirking, “I’m only helping you out, Buck.”

“Uh, huh,” Bucky says against his lips. He manages to snake a hand down to Steve’s buckle. “It’s only fair if I lend you a hand, too.” He kisses him again, dropping the belt somewhere on the floor.

They don’t break apart as Bucky sort of herds them both toward the bedroom until Steve’s knees hit the bed. Bucky pushes him down, ecstatic. Some sleep he’s going to get. He straddles Steve’s lap and gets rid of his t-shirt in one fluid motion that he knows for a fact is extremely sexy. He descends back unto Steve’s mouth. Steve grumbles something in between kisses but Bucky just got terribly occupied in taking his shirt off.

“Buck,” Steve tries again. Bucky finishes his first step in his newfound mission; getting Steve naked as quickly as possible before he changes his mind. “Bucky, hold on.”

Fuck. Not quick enough.

Bucky groans and pulls back. “What?”

“Let’s slow down. I meant it.”

Bucky only groans louder. “Why!”

“Come on, Buck,” Steve says, too firm, “you know why.”

“No, you know I don’t,” Bucky says, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms.

Steve runs his hands on Bucky’s thighs, down and back up again. Bucky tracks the motion with his eyes silently.

“I can’t do it again,” Steve says quietly, “I can’t have you start something and change your mind halfway through. You’re not the only one to blame for that, sure, but I can’t go through it again. I’m sorry.”

Bucky opens his mouth but finds he has nothing to object to that.

“Give yourself time to figure it out,” Steve goes on in the same tone, “we don’t have to rush. I’ll stay the night. You know what I want. Make sure you want the same thing. That’s all I ask, ok?”

Bucky suddenly feels like the world’s biggest moron and worst jerk at the same time. He gets back up, feeling too exposed and stupid as hell. He nods to Steve in quiet agreement and moves to the bathroom. He splashes water on his face, retrieves his pajamas, strips quickly and brushes his teeth in a hurry. He rummages for a spare toothbrush and brings it to Steve who is still laying shirtless on his bed.

“Here,” he says with toothpaste in his mouth.

They move in silence until they’re back in bed, Bucky in a sleep shirt and cotton pants and Steve in a matching set that probably did belong to him once upon a time. Bucky takes a deep breath before he turns the lights off. Just sleeping. That’s fair enough.

“Thank you,” he whispers in the dark. He finds Steve’s hand under the covers and squeezes. “I’m an asshole. You’re right. I’m sorry I kept…forcing things to happen. This is…We’re good.”

Steve squeezes back. He yawns. “Yeah, Buck, we’re perfect. Goodnight.”

Bucky stares at him in the dark. Steve is on his side, holding a pillow with his right hand, Bucky’s with his left, his eyes closed. Just like that, he’s asleep. Bucky envies him that ability. He turns on his side to mirror Steve’s position and lets himself look his fill.

He’s so grateful for Steve, for how deep his forgiveness run, for how much compassion and empathy he’s capable of offering, to whomever he considers worthy. Bucky must be someone that he really deems incredible, for him to be so thoroughly loved and desired, time after time, heartbreak after heartbreak.

Even if he could only give Steve back an ounce of that, he’s bound to try, at least.

*****

Bucky lets Steve go as early as he likes because somehow Steve runs even on the weekends. He settles back against his pillows and wishes they’d smell a bit more of Steve, but then again Steve doesn’t really smell of anything except generic shower gel and plain aftershave. It’s not like he can stay in bed much longer anyway because he promised Natasha bottomless brunch.

They get their usual table at their usual place, with their usual pick of the menu, two sets of mimosa ready. He rattles as much information about the upcoming retreat before they get the starters out. Natasha nods patiently.

“So, you haven’t told Steve?”

Bucky avoids her sharp eyes. “Pepper will be there. Pepper who saw you drop the divorce papers on my desk. It’s a pretty official thing, too. Sort of thing you bring your husband to.”

“It’s not like Steve is a casual guy, anyway.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that. What if Stark starts cracking jokes about it? What if he starts calling me Liz?”

Natasha half chokes on her sourdough. “Even him isn’t that crass. You know you want to take him. How many directors is there in that company anyway? A hundred?”

“No, about eighty, including plus ones. We’re all staying up in the Hamptons, it’s a giant mansion hotel spa thing. It does look nice. Very much not Steve’s thing, though.”

“So, you’re scared, basically.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. And water’s wet too if they need more obvious facts. “You know what’s even stupider? I still have that fucking bracelet. I keep thinking, do I wear it again, do I not? What would it mean? I can’t even figure that one out. I can’t be trusted with any decisions.”

“It’s not like you can put it in the trash. How about you ask? You know, communicate with your new boyfriend.”

“You are hilarious today, wow.”

She twirls her fork in the air. “Ask him about the stupid bracelet. Ask him about the stupid retreat. Go to the yoga classes and the ted talks and then fuck him in a fancy hotel room. You can manage that. I believe in you.”

“When you put it like that,” Bucky says with a sigh.

She hands him both their empty glasses. “And we’re out of mimosas. How about you go ask for some bellinis? See, one less decision for you.”

Bucky huffs but goes anyway. “Anything for you,” he grumbles. Maybe it’s high time he takes some of Natasha’s advice.

*****

Bucky asks Steve about the retreat by text. He doesn’t talk about the bracelet. He doesn’t stare at the box that’s at the bottom of his desk drawer either. He stares at the drawer guiltily, though. This will be a problem for later Bucky, he decides wisely.

Steve agrees to the retreat with a couple of thumbs up emojis. Bucky breathes a little easier in the week that comes after. They don’t see each other, unfortunately, as Steve is running into all of his deadlines all at once.

The day of their wedding anniversary comes, and Bucky stubbornly refuses to even look at his personal phone the whole day, so he doesn’t have to even acknowledge it. In the end, the day passes by and nothing happens. It stays just another day in May. They were married but now they’re divorced, so that anniversary doesn’t exist anymore. May the 4th has found its status of ordinary day in the year again. Bucky knows he won’t miss it.

It’s not long to wait until the Saturday after that. Bucky borrows Clint’s car to drive down. He’s the one picking up Steve this time, dressed in the least douchey linen suit he could manage to find under the circumstances.

He’s not sure what to expect about the upcoming two-and-a-half-hour drive to East Hampton. Besides that one trip to Sicily they took once, him and Steve have never really travelled anywhere. They’ve never been to the Hamptons together. It’s not really a vacation, but it’s still something. He reminds himself that it’s just Steve, that he knows him, and everything will be fine but the tight bundle of nerves that sits in his stomach doesn’t seem to care.

Steve is waiting outside his building, a duffle bag in hand and sunglasses on his face. Bucky smiles, rolling down the window. “Going my way, sweetheart?”

Steve smiles back, going around and dropping his bag in the backseat before he sits by Bucky. He puts his sunglasses on his forehead and cups the side of Bucky’s face to bring him to the side. He kisses him softly, just a quick hello sort of kiss. Bucky probably shouldn’t feel so taken by that simple gesture, but there he is anyway, head over heels for this one idiot.

“Hey, honey,” Steve says as he pulls back, “you look great. Very 50s Hollywood star. It suits you.”

Bucky hopes to any listening deity that he doesn’t blush. He starts the car again. “Thanks.” He tentatively glances toward Steve. He’s wearing dark trousers and a Henley with the top buttons undone. “They said no dress code, but I know a trap when I see one. You look good, too.”

Steve fiddles with the radio player until he finds his favorite station. He sits back against the sit, spreading his legs wide. Bucky focuses on the road.

“Have you seen the program? There’s a conference about the modern businessperson’s yoga. Definitely going to that one.”

Bucky snorts. “I promise at least the dinners will be great and that there’s open bars the whole time.”

Steve squeezes his knee, looking back at him. “And there’s the beach. It’s only two days. It’ll be fun.”

Bucky’s not sure about that but he’ll keep the panicking to a minimum for now. The drive isn’t bad anyway, as scenic as can be. The silence isn’t awkward or tense. The music lulls them into comfort. It’s almost enough for Bucky to relax.

*****

As expected, the place is incredible. It looks like a big New England type of beach house, but mansion sized. The spa is huge, all treatments included. Bucky knew that Stark liked to go all out for his employees, but he had no idea how much all out means when you’re a billionaire.

After the morning massage, the welcome luncheon, the drinks and the stupid speeches about teamwork and life of the modern millionaire, there’s some kind of networking thing that seemed mandatory enough for Bucky to attend. He mercifully leaves Steve to his own device, which probably includes the gym.

It’s only for the evening dinner that Bucky asks Steve to join him. They both in their best business casual and eat on the large balcony, right by the beach. It’s something out of a dream.

Bucky introduces Steve to Peter who sits at their table, along with other junior directors that Bucky has never met before. There’s no awkward introductions. Bucky calls Steve his partner and since no one knows that he also used to be his husband, there are no subsequent questions. So, maybe Bucky can admit he had been freaking out over nothing.

They move to a different area after everyone finishes with their meal. It’s still outside on the terrace, where they can all enjoy the sunset. Steve brings another glass of wine to Bucky by the ledge where they both lean on.

Bucky’s fingers trail on Steve’s wrist. “You remember the bracelet? The one you gave me, before?”

Steve frowns before his expression softens. He gives Bucky a simple nod.

“I still have it. I took it off because I was so pissed off…It didn’t even make sense, because I had no right. I had no claim on you.”

“We were making our way there, though, Buck,” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Let me finish,” Bucky asks gently, “I was an idiot. And I’m sorry. But all this time, I didn’t put it back on. I could have, right? It’s mine. But I couldn’t. I don’t even know why. It’s a beautiful bracelet.”

Steve swallows thickly. “It means something. It means something different. What we’re doing now, it’s not the same. I don’t want it to be the same. The bracelet’s yours, I’m not going to tell you what to do with but I like that you’re not wearing it anymore.” He circles his wine glass around. “Blank page and all that.”

“We’re still the same people.”

“I know, but this isn’t the same relationship. It counts for something.”

Bucky stares at him. He wants something to argue with, have the last word somehow, but he finds that he can’t come up with anything. He takes another sip of wine, turning to look at the sun setting on the beach.

“Bit cliché, isn’t it?” he says not to let the silence settle.

Steve wraps an arm around his waist and pulls Bucky to him. He kisses his forehead so softly it shouldn’t be allowed. Bucky puts his glass down on the balcony ledge and holds onto his shoulders.

“I like it,” Steve says, “it’s beautiful out here. Haven't been around in years. Thanks for taking me.”

Bucky smirks. “My other boyfriends were busy that weekend, no big deal.”

“Lucky me, huh?”

“Don’t know yet.” Bucky kisses his lips. “Might need to wait until the end of the evening to see about that.”

Bucky steps away from their embrace. He takes his wine glass in his hand again and pointedly takes another sip, still looking right at Steve, who stands still, an amused smile on his lips.

“It’s like that, huh?”

“Yeah, Rogers, it’s like that. You gonna do something about it?”

Steve looks down at his shoes, smirking wide, and shrugs his wide shoulders, holding his arms together on his chest. The air is getting chillier. The party is even settling down.

“What’s our room number again?” Steve asks casually.

Bucky puts a hand on the ledge with what he hopes is a normal movement, not something hurried like he’s about to fall on the floor. Steve only smiles more, almost chuckling to himself. Bucky shakes himself together. He finishes his glass, sets it down again and leads Steve toward the door. He’s not about to get too excited. It could all be a trick again. Maybe Steve’s third base is now cuddling. 

*****

The corridors are endless mazes and Bucky just now realizes how much he hates hotels. There aren’t any clear signs, there’s no one around to ask, and every door looks exactly the same. It doesn’t help either that he’s about to jump out of his skin any minute now, bursting at the seams with anxiety.

Steve is no help either, of course, too busy making fun of Bucky. So that leaves Bucky with no other choice than doubling down and pretending that everything is just peachy and that he is totally unaffected. How big can this hotel really be anyway?

“You know,” Steve starts and by the smugness in his voice, Bucky knows he doesn’t want to hear it.

“No, I don’t know. Neither do you, so shut up.”

“Sure, Buck, but this card does say 2209 and we just passed 2209, so if you just wanted to have a stroll…,” he goes on, waving the stupid plastic card around.

Bucky very slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. There’s no need to argue about that. He turns on his heels without another word. Steve doesn’t add anything, even gives Bucky the card with no superfluous comment and they’re now in the room. Alone.

The bed is still there. Their open duffle bags are still there. If Bucky goes in the bathroom, he’s very sure he’ll find that his toothbrush, skin and hair products are there too. If he turns around, he also knows for sure that Steve will be there.

Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s waist. His fingers thread carefully. He untucks his shirt from his pants an inch at a time. Bucky swallows when Steve reaches bare skin. He doesn’t dare turning around, just in case it’d break the moment. Just in case, he’d suddenly wake up in his bed.

Bucky feels Steve’s breath on his neck, then his lips right by his earlobe before his tongue darts out. It takes a lot of strength to hold back a moan from the sheer surprise of the touch. This is not some platonic cuddling bullshit. No one sucks on earlobes platonically. Bucky twists his neck to stare right at Steve.

“We’re fucking now, of all time?” Bucky protests, if weakly, “Right now? In Stark’s hotel? _In my boss’s place_?”

Steve, the asshole, shrugs.

“Is it the red wine that made you too horny to control your stupid brain?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s our third date,” he says, like this is a logical explanation.

Bucky blinks a couple of times. He’s not about to look a gifted horse in the mouth. If Steve wants to fuck, he’ll take it, but he’ll make some objections first.

“We’ve been together since my senior year,” Bucky starts in a huff, detangling himself slightly from Steve’s grip.

“No,” he cuts him straight away, “we were together since we were seventeen, but we got a divorce. Now, this is our third date.”

“Steve,” Bucky tries.

“This isn’t the same. We’re not picking up where we left off. I told you, we’re doing this right. We were divorced and now we’re dating. It doesn’t erase the past, but it’s still a new page. I think…I just think this is pretty romantic. Don’t you?”

Bucky considers the canopy bed and the dark wood frame, the view of the sea behind them, the faint light of the moon. They couldn’t have found something better if they had tried.

“You sure know how to pick your time though, Rogers.”

Steve smiles softly, caressing Bucky’s cheek with as little pressure as he can manage with his big, warm hands. Bucky smiles back. He pulls him closer, almost crashing their mouths together, letting himself take in the reality of the moment. This moment that he had been waiting for so long now. It’s been months that he’s been thinking of finally being reunited with Steve in that way. His hands shake with the intensity of his feeling. It’s longing, it’s love, it’s lust, it’s everything that has ever made his heart flutter a beat quicker.

He finds himself grateful to have drunk all that wine in the end, for all the nervousness that is waiting to take control of his body. Luckily, this is familiar enough. Sex with Steve is something deeply ingrained in him. He knows his body to heart, almost. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been since they last been like this, Bucky wouldn’t forget if it had been a hundred years.

Kiss behind Steve’s ear, bite a little and he’ll lose his mind. Cup his balls while you blow him, squeeze lightly and you’ll get the best noises out of him. Be bratty enough and he’ll put you in your place, all mean and strong like he knows you want him.

They shed all their clothes, Bucky’s not sure how. It doesn’t matter. Steve’s mouth is on his skin, his hands roam on his body. He’s being pulled to the bed, gently laid down to be enjoyed, like he’s a rare piece of art. Steve’s eyes are blown wide, made dark with desire. He lowers himself on top of Bucky and kisses him so gently, with so much carefulness, that he feels set aflame.

This is something like a revelation, how right it feels, how beautiful he knows this picture is, the picture they make, brought together again. He thinks of the draw of the ocean towards the full moon, how similar it must all be. Steve is a planet, and his orbit pulls and pulls. Bucky can’t believe he thought himself strong enough to resist, all this time, when he could have had this.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky barely whispers. His throat is dry, his voice raspy.

Steve pauses, trailing fingers on Bucky’s bare skin with unusual calm. “I missed this,” he says finally, “I missed you so much.”

“God, yes, me too,” Bucky isn’t even embarrassed to reply as Steve’s fingers eventually pass by Bucky’s crotch. “Do you want to do it like this?”

Steve’s lips suck a mark under his collarbone. He hums wetly. He meets Bucky’s eyes again. “I want to look at you.”

Bucky’s words have left him, but he lifts his hips to slide a pillow underneath him. He doesn’t even ask when Steve goes back to his duffle bag and produces a bottle of lube and some condoms. He almost wants to say that they don’t need to, that he’s clean, it’s been so long, and he got tested recently just in case, but this isn’t the time. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants Steve on top of him, inside him, kissing him, touching him.

Steve settles between Bucky’s legs. He kisses each of his raised knees as he slicks up his fingers. Bucky feels strung up with tension, his whole body tight in anticipation. He blows out a long breath, as deep as he can go, trying to relax enough to take him in. It’s been so long. He can’t ruin this.

“It’s just me, Buck,” Steve says, carefully meeting his eyes. He circles around Bucky’s hole with his thumb. Bucky swallows. “We don’t have to…”

Bucky shakes his head. “Just give me a minute. I’m fine.”

He lays down on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. He wills his body into something quieter, softer. He can do this, of course he can do this. Steve seems to understand, pushing in, slowly, dreadfully slow. Bucky breathes in and out. It feels good, of course it does. This is Steve, he knows Bucky as much as Bucky knows him.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. He closes his eyes. Steve tears away the wrapper and pours more lube down on himself. He gives Bucky’s cock a couple strokes, kisses his stomach, licks at a nipple, bites a collarbone. He finds himself an inch away from Bucky’s face. He smiles wide, like an idiot and Bucky can’t help but return it.

“Hi,” Steve says quietly.

“Hey,” Bucky replies, helpless with fondness.

Slowly, gradually, Steve sinks in. Bucky sucks in a breath. How long did he imagine this, how it would feel, Steve inside of him, pressed up against like this, strong, solid, securing him? Bucky hooks his ankles together on his back, urging him closer. Steve kisses him, deep and assured. He grunts against Bucky’s mouth, thrusting now. Bucky arches, so full, so taken.

Nothing remains around them but this. The wet sound of flesh against flesh, their heavy breath, the grunting, the moaning, the longing and the relief. The past two years don’t exist. Their past lives up to this point don’t exist either. Bucky holds on to Steve’s shoulders and lets himself feel this. He drowns in the affection, the care and the passion.

It must last for hours, or maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s over too soon. Bucky couldn’t tell even if his life depended on it. He feels his orgasm building. He’s not sure if he manages to make the word out to Steve. It doesn’t matter. He also knows somehow. There’s a hand on his cock when he needs. It feels like they come together, a crazy synchronicity to bodies that have known each other forever. But again, Bucky has no idea. His head isn’t there anymore. He floats, high above the bed, fully contented.

Remotely, he feels Steve pulling out, only because it feels a rush of cold air on his damp skin. He closes his eyes. Steve brushes his hair back, kisses his forehead, then his cheek.

“I love you,” Steve says, bringing him close, holding him tight.

Bucky nods against his chest. He wants to say it, then, but nothing comes out. He can’t even open his eyes. Sleep takes him in immediately.

****

Bucky cracks an eye open and immediately regrets it. The sun is too bright. His brain feels hardened, his limbs too heavy and his mouth dried up. He can barely manage a yawn. He also somehow knows it’s way too early to be up but his fucked up body just had to wake up because he wakes up at 6:30 most mornings.

But, he realizes, by his side is Steve, warm, heavy, snoring, and _there_. He’s got an arm flung up on Bucky’s waist, his face buried in an armpit, still completely naked, his hair sticking up in unfortunate places and perfect, so perfect. Bucky brushes the few stubborn strands and gets out of his iron grip. He smiles, looking down at the messed-up bed, their clothes discarded everywhere. He stretches his arms, cracks his neck and finds his way to the bathroom to rummage for glasses of water.

When he returns, Steve is sitting up blearily too, staring at the curtains that hadn’t been closed properly last night.

“Remember your twenties?” Steve asks, “when you could drink by the bucket and the next day, it was like nothing happened?”

Bucky laughs, handing him a glass of water. “I drink two glasses of wine and now my head just _pounds._ I hate it.”

He sits back down on the bed, levelled with Steve. They drink the water, staring at each other. It’d be a little ridiculous if Bucky weren’t so damn happy.

“Hey,” Steve says, like an idiot.

Bucky grins back anyway. “Morning.”

Steve is the one that puts both their glasses down. He wraps a hand in Bucky’s hair and brings him forward. Bucky goes easily until he’s more or less sitting in Steve’s lap. Steve presses a kiss to his cheek and flops down on his back, bringing Bucky with him.

Bucky huffs but settles in his arms. He holds on to one of Steve’s shoulder, cuddling up to him until he manages to fit his face against a collarbone comfortably. Steve pets his hair distractedly, holding tight.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to have this again,” he says quietly.

Bucky traces the curve of his jaw up to his chin with his index, then back up again. He smiles.

“I told you we should have fucked long ago.”

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head as well as he can against the pillow, “waking up next to you. Having you here, with me, not planning your escape.”

Bucky’s hand stops moving. He thinks, for a half-second, of something witty and cutting to say. Steve deserves the truth, though. Bucky can be brave too. “I was terrified,” he admits.

Steve’s smile turns bashful. He licks his lips and sighs softly. “Of me?”

It’s hard to put it into words, isn’t it? How do you explain to someone that in their hands rests the power to crush you, cave in your chest until both your lungs collapse, until you writhe in pain and draw in your last breath? Steve couldn’t possibly understand. This isn’t something he can share.

“Of me,” Bucky corrects, “I didn’t want to need you like that. I wanted to prove it to myself. Steve, you have to understand, leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Steve’s hold on his waist tightens. They lay in silence for a while. It doesn’t feel heavy though. Bucky could fall asleep like this again.

“You’re the best thing in my life. Best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Steve says softly, “I’m so lucky to have you, Buck. I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

Bucky grins, cocking an eyebrow. “Hurts, huh? Doesn’t sound that nice.”

“In the best way,” Steve says, like it’s a promise, like it’s a pact they’re sealing now, another pair of marriage vows.

“You’re cheesy as all hell this morning,” Bucky says, squirming away.

Steve lets him go easily. Bucky really ought to send a thank you card to his therapist for teaching him about patience and the virtue of not steam rolling your boyfriend into talking about his feelings. He feels Steve’s eyes on him as he puts on his clothes, but he stays silent.

“Come on,” Bucky urges him, “you don’t want to miss breakfast. That’s our last day.”

Steve gets up and heads toward the bathroom while he stretches his back and arms. He yawns, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek as he goes. Bucky only mildly feels like an asshole.

*****

Bucky lets Natasha know about his consummated relationship with Steve as soon as he’s back in New York. He gets a string of cryptid emojis for his troubles. She calls him later on, giggling like this is the funniest joke she’s ever heard.

“He waited for the third date,” she says between a fit of laughter, “because he’s such a gentleman.”

“Uh, huh,” Bucky agrees, jamming the phone between his ear and his shoulder, while he keeps folding his laundry, “the retreat wasn’t even that bad. Minimum namaste capitalism. You’d have enjoyed it, I think.”

“You guys are actually adorable. Who would have thought?”

“Not you, yeah, I know. Wanna hang out next week now that we’re official? You, me, Steve and Sam, like in the old days.”

“You’re going to introduce me to your boyfriend!” she says with a fake gasp.

Bucky sighs. “Unfortunately, yes. Bring wine. Even the dog if you want, I don’t mind.”

“You are admirably less easy to annoy now that you’re getting laid.”

This time, Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, ain’t that the best perk. See you, Saturday, then?”

She agrees and they hang up. Bucky lets out a long breath. That was the easy part. Now, he’s going to have to tell his whole family. Maybe he can wait for a while. They don’t need to know all his business. Maybe Steve can tell them. He owes Bucky that much.

He lets go of the pile of folded pants and flops down on the bed lengthwise. His ma is coming to visit in a few weeks, maybe he can tell her then. He’s about eighty percent sure she’ll be happy for him. Maybe seventy percent. Anyway, he’s a grown man. He can face his own mother. He turns around until he’s on his side and types out a quick note to bring that out during his next therapy session.

*****

Bucky doesn’t really bother with making dinner. He orders enough chicken wings to feed a full platoon and stocks the fridge on beers. Natasha is the first to show up, with the dog, presumably because Clint is away, and Bucky loves her anyway.

She kicks off her shoes, cracks open a beer and settles on the couch cushions. Lucky lays down by her feet. Bucky sits at the dinner table on the side, putting his feet up on another chair. They clink their bottles in the air, five feet apart from each other.

“This is a big deal,” Natasha drawls, “are you going to introduce him to your mom next?”

Bucky shrugs. “I haven’t told my family yet. I’ve hinted at it to Becca and she freaked out, so I’m not looking forward to that conversation.”

Natasha hums. Bucky feels like she has some joke on the top of her tongue but the intercom buzzes loudly before she can open her mouth. Bucky lets Steve and Sam in with a bright smile. Natasha stands besides him patiently.

“Nat, meet my boyfriend, Steve,” he says, gesturing at Steve like this is truly the first time they’re meeting. “Steve, my best friend, Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Natasha,” Steve says dutifully, extending his hand.

“I’m not participating in that,” Sam grumbles on the side.

“Bucky, please excuse my best friend, Sam. He’s actually delighted to meet you.”

“How did they make you agree to this?” Sam asks Natasha.

Natasha shrugs. “Imagine the peace you’ll have. No more comforting grown men at 2am because the commercials showed a couple of ducks and they mate for life.”

Steve looks right at Bucky and barks out a laugh.

“You weren’t there,” Bucky mutters, “they pick each other, and they never break up.”

Sam laughs then too, and Bucky decides to ignore them in order to get dinner ready. Natasha follows him into the kitchen with a smirk. She helps with the plates and the hot sauce pots. Bucky glances at her from the side. He holds out his hand for her. She takes it without even looking.

“You’re the best friend a guy could ever ask for, you know that?” he says, squeezing her hand.

She nods, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “And you’re the best friend a girl could hope for.”

“These past few years have been so hard, and you’ve always been there for me. I can’t ever pay you back.”

“Lucky you don’t have to,” Natasha says, bopping his nose, “you don’t owe me for being your friend. I did it because I love you and I knew you were worth it. Are you happy, now?”

Bucky inhales sharply and blows out the air with his mouth. Two years ago, he was an anxious mess, horribly dependent on Steve and his presence, desperate for affection and reassurance. Now, he’s facing his issues head on, he’s more confident than he’s ever dreamt of being. He accomplished so much. He looks back at Natasha.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah, I really am.”

Her smile widens. “Then I’m really glad. All this hard work of cheering you up finally paid off.”

“Took me a while.”

“Most good things do,” she says calmly.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

She lets go of his hand to give him a real hug. Bucky swallows back the sappy tears that are waiting to fall out of his eyes. This is a good moment, no need for tears. She smiles anyway and squeezes tighter. He might just turn out alright.

*****

Bucky waits another couple of weeks before he tells Becca. She’s not thrilled, but she also doesn’t have to fuck Steve herself so who cares, really. Bucky doesn’t have to make excuses for himself. He’s happy. Dating Steve, against all odds, is going great. 

It’s the baby’s second birthday, so his mom is visiting New York and he can’t deal with her learning about him and Steve from Becca. He puts on his big boy pants and invites her to lunch in Manhattan. He hopes that bringing her to a nice restaurant in a nice suit will be distraction enough from the news.

“Ma, listen,” Bucky starts when the appetizers have been consummated.

She has this look on her face, halfway being too close to fainting and ready to go buy a gun to finish off whoever could have hurt him.

“You stop that,” he continues, “no need for this face. This is good news.”

She nods patiently.

“Alright,” he breathes out, “here it is. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Jaime,” she coos.

“Before you get all excited, he’s not Jewish.”

She swats his side. “You know I don’t care about that, darling.”

“Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug. He’s not going to be the one to bring up Pietro unprompted. “Even better then. You also…know him.”

“Ok, honey, that’s good.”

“It’s very complicated, so please don’t get too excited. We are taking things very slow.”

“Are you telling me all this because you want to introduce him to me, as an official boyfriend?”

Bucky cringes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ma, we’ll leave the meetings out of this for now, alright? Just, give me a second here.”

“That’s fine, baby, take your time. You know I love you.”

“It’s, uh. I’m seeing Steve again, Ma. We’re together. Like that. But not, you know, married or anything. We’re dating. Slowly.”

Winnifred covers her mouth with both her hands to hide a squeal. “Oh, Jaime, baby. I’m calling him right now.”

“Ma,” Bucky groans. “What did I _just_ say?”

But it’s too late. Winnifred has got her phone in her hands and has already dialed Steve on FaceTime.

“Winnie, hi!” Steve says cheerily. Ugh, Bucky hates him. Why is he so happy?

“Steven, baby, Mazel Tov! Jaime here just gave me the good news! I knew…You know I always knew you’d find your way back. Oh,” she dries a tear waiting to fall to her cheek.

“Ma, are you crying?”

“Is Bucky there?” Steve asks and Bucky does not want to see him. His mom turns the phone around needlessly. “Hey, Buck!”

“Hey,” Bucky replies, rubbing a hand on his face. “Aren’t you working?”

“Steven always has time for me, unlike some people,” Winnifred begrudges.

“I’m on my break,” Steve continues, stupidly.

Winnifred already looks like she’s scheming. “Oh, honey, where do you work? Why don’t you join us?”

“Ma! What did I just say!” Bucky exclaims.

“I’ve know Steven since he was five years old!” she counters just as loudly, “that’s thirty years! How would that not be slow enough? Steve, my darling boy, I’ll send you the pin and you come have lunch with us. I haven’t seen you since Christmas.”

Bucky sighs. He sits back against his chair. “Fine, but then he’s buying.”

“I raised you better than that, Jaime,” Winnifred complains softly as Steve says his goodbyes.

Bucky rolls his eyes. He tries to ignore the warmth in his stomach at the thought of Steve running all the way to meet them for lunch just because his mom asked him to and he won’t disappoint her. It’s impossible, really, because just thinking about Steve and how wide he smiles these days gets his stomach turned upside down.

*****

Bucky hears his phone buzz on his kitchen island as he finishes brewing the sweetest iced tea he’s ever made. He glances at it from the side. It’s Steve. A single text letting him know Sam’s away from the weekend. They haven’t seen each other all week since his mom left for Connecticut. Bucky smiles. That can only mean one thing. He replies that he’s on his way and abandons the tea.

As he makes his way over to Steve’s, he thinks about living together again. It would be for real this time. No more secret missions to whisk him away, Steve would be with him every morning and every evening. They’d even go to work together most days, too, working in the same building. That’s a big step. They might not be there yet. After all, they’ve only been dating for a few months. It’s all new but familiar at the same time. They’ve got all the time they need. Bucky can focus on what’s in front of him for now.

What’s in front of him is Steve, no shirt, and some ridiculously short gym shorts on. Bucky grins. “Oh, hello, I see you weren’t expecting me,” he says in his sultriest voice.

Steve doesn’t even bother with greetings and grabs Bucky with one arm. Bucky gasps against his mouth. Steve closes the door behind them before pushing Bucky right up against it, pushing one firm, basically bare thigh between Bucky’s.

Bucky had almost forgotten all about that. How hot Steve can run, how hungry for Bucky he can be, how relentless in his desire he really is. Steve is made up of rage and lust, really, and Bucky had forgotten what it was like to be at the end of the former.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky moans as Steve bites and licks at his neck.

“Bed?” Steve enquires innocently, pulling back only an inch.

“Huh? Yeah. Whatever you want.”

Steve smirks, too proud of himself, the bastard. Bucky will take it anyway. Steve grips onto Bucky’s hips and pulls him off the door, right up to his chest. On instinct, Bucky jumps up, wrapping his legs around his waist. Steve holds on to his ass, grabbing tight. Bucky rolls his hips as best as he can and moans louder.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, I forgot you could do that.”

Steve marches them to his room where he drops Bucky like a discarded sack of potatoes on the bed. Bucky scrambles to the top of the bed. He takes off his own t-shirt and kicks off his shoes and socks hurriedly.

“How do you want me?” Bucky asks, his voice only a little breathless, undoing his belt and taking off his jeans.

“Turn around,” Steve instructs in a low voice, “hands and knees.”

He’s naked too, apparently going commando under his shorts. Bucky gives himself a second to look him up and down before obeying, arching his back.

He feels Steve’s big hands on the dip of his ass, going up his back then down again, spreading his cheeks. Bucky blows out a breath. Steve takes his time, always does, always so reverently. Bucky feels like melted clay under his touch, like he’s being fitted into place, remodeled into what Steve wants. Bucky lets the heat pool in his body, steadily, patiently. This is his now. This is his to enjoy and relax into. There are no reasons to run, nothing to be ashamed of. Just him and Steve.

Steve grips on his hips, hard, and kisses one ass cheek then the other. Bucky shivers in anticipation. “Lube is in the top drawer,” he directs.

Bucky can’t really reach that far with Steve holding onto him with such strength, but he manages to stretch his arm enough to pull the drawer all the way out. He pats around it in a sudden, desperate hurry. Steve, behind him, swipes his tongue on his hole, up towards his back. Bucky throws the bottle back with a shaky hand.

“Je- _sus_ ,” Bucky says, gasping.

“I thought about this so much. You’re unbelievable, Buck. You’re so sexy. All laid out for me…”

He goes back in and Bucky feels his whole body tremble. He pushes back against Steve’s tongue, arching even more, taking his own dick in his hand and squeezing. He needs some relief, anything before he loses his mind too.

Bucky hears the bottle being opened, the watery sound of the lube being poured, then he feels Steve’s finger circling his hole and finally pushing in. Bucky groans, bracing himself on one arm. Steve reaches around his waist and replaces Bucky’s hand with his own. Bucky lets him, putting his weight on his elbows and giving himself completely over to Steve.

It doesn’t take long until Steve decides that Bucky can take him. He pushes in slowly, gradually. Bucky welcomes the stretch, grabbing at the sheets and pillows in front of him, moaning shamelessly. He tries to push against Steve, to take more of him quicker but Steve holds him at bay.

“Feel this,” he says quietly by Bucky’s ear, stroking his dick slowly with his lubed hand, “take it. It’s all yours. Just yours.”

Steve starts to take measured thrusts, a languid roll of his hips that goes deeper each time, that drives Bucky wild with want. He can’t move, encaged in Steve and so he takes what he’s given.

But, as always, like it’s a memory that’s been engraved in Bucky’s bones, Steve can’t hold on forever. His control, even so tightly wound up, breaks when the pressure builds on and on. His rhythm changes, his grip hardens, he basically growls behind Bucky.

“Fuck, baby, just like this,” Bucky says, pushing himself up onto his hands, arching and arching until his back aches, until his back is basically on Steve’s chest.

Steve wraps an arm around him and holds him upright, grunting and groaning. Bucky tilts his head to look at him. His mouth is half open, his eyes staring at Bucky’s ass, watching it bounce as he goes in and out. Bucky twists until he can connect their mouths. It’s not really a kiss, more like clashing their tongues and teeth together, breathing into each other.

There’s nothing better. There’s a synchronicity to their movements like they can both predict and anticipate the other’s needs. It would only make sense, given how long they’ve known each other in that way.

Steve bites into Bucky’s shoulder and quickens his pace on Bucky’s cock. A low sound that makes his chest rumble leave his mouth and then he comes, Bucky not far behind, trying to keep the mess to a minimum.

It takes them a second to catch their breath and come back to their bodies. Steve lets go of his grip on Bucky. He pulls out slowly and flops down on the bed. Bucky falls forward, his legs giving out. He buries his face in the pillows, reaching blindly for Steve on his side. Steve finds his hand and brings it up to his sternum, right above his heart.

“You know the one thing I love about your place?” Bucky asks once he’s got his breathing under control.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand with both of his. “The soundproof windows?”

“Yeah, that’s nice too. But you’ve got a bath.”

This time, Steve turns on his side to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m saying I want to take a bath, babe.”

Steve nods slowly. Bucky lets himself feel all the deserved pride of having melted this man’s brain with incredible sex, yet again.

“I can arrange that,” Steve says before setting off for the bathroom, naked as ever.

Bucky watches him go through the door and into the living room with a smile. He waits until he hears the water start to get up himself. He finds Steve sitting on the edge of the tub, testing the temperature with a frown, like optimal bath water is his current mission. Bucky plasters himself to his back and holds on to his slim waist. He lays kisses all around his shoulder blades.

They stay like this, waiting for the tub to fill up, in companiable silence. Steve reaches for whatever he must have believed passes as bath foam. It doesn’t smell like much but Bucky’s not about to complain.

“There you go, your highness,” Steve says once the bubbles start to emerge.

“You’re not coming in too?”

“We’ll barely fit.”

“Yeah, but that’s the point. We’ll cuddle.”

Steve turns around to press a kiss to Bucky’s nose, chuckling. “Cuddle, huh?”

“Don’t make me change my mind, boyfriend.”

Steve squeezes his shoulder before getting off the rim. Bucky stares at him expectedly. “No, go ahead, how do you want to do this?”

“Go in first, your shoulders are bigger,” Bucky orders.

Steve obeys. The tub isn’t small, but they aren’t small men either. Steve sits down with his legs wide open and Bucky manages to fit in between, if a little awkwardly. It’s not the most comfortable but it’s worth it, for Steve’s arms around his chest, for his lips on the back of his ear, for the soft pop of the bubbles and the light clicking of the water. Bucky closes his eyes.

“I love you,” he says, trying the words out on his tongue. It comes out shaky and undecided. He swallows. The room is too silent.

“You don’t sound too sure about it,” Steve replies with a grin. Idiot. Bucky wants nothing but to reach out and bury himself into him.

Back when they were married, even before, back when they even first started saying it, surprisingly enough, it was always Bucky who said it first. Reminding Steve every hour of the day of how much he loved him. Bucky could watch him do the most mundane things and the words would leave his mouth without him even realizing. Now, it feels too raw. Too much of something he doesn’t want to know about. Too final.

Luckily, Steve is still Steve and he can still read Bucky’s mind at all times. He reaches out to brush a stray strand of Bucky’s hair back. He rubs his thumb on Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you too, you know that?”

Bucky looks away, too full and vacant at the same time, like he just emptied his insides and held them up to Steve for safe keeping.

“Yeah, guess I do,” he murmurs, “it was really fucking hard without you. I…I had to be alone, you get it, right? Doesn’t mean it was easy.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve says just as quietly, “it’s ok. We got to where we needed to be in the end. Doesn’t matter how long it took.”

Bucky nods. Doesn’t matter.

He used to think, for a long time, that it did. That there was a system, a sort of calculation. Some deserve this, some don’t, and this is what happens in between. Bucky had believed he deserved none of Steve, that he was running on borrowed time, that one day, judgement was coming, and the verdict would be against him. He had sinned, he had failed, and Steve, rightfully, would be taken away from him to someone who did deserve him. Someone better than Bucky, someone without his faults, without his mistakes, someone who was worthy of Steve. But that had never mattered, not in the slightest.

The universe has no say in this. There is no balance of whatever good deeds Bucky has accumulated over the years that will unlock rewards or bring out punishments. There is what he wants, what he can have and what he does about it. There is Steve, his tenderness, his passion, his all-encompassing, all-defying, never faltering love. There is Bucky, his forgiveness, his determination, and his desire to do right by the ones he loves, to cherish and nurture. And finally, there is them together, this ever growing, ever expanding universe they make up, with their memories, their dedication and adoration. The sum of it all is what counts, what matters.

There are beginnings and there are endings and all in between, there is love and there is this. Just this. This embrace in this too small tub, that means the world to them both. Nothing has been righted, because nothing has been wronged, not really, but here, right in this bathroom, there is unbridled happiness and it does matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes divorce fic!   
> What a journey. Thanks to everyone who have been reading from when I used to update weekly, it really meant the world to hear your thoughts chapter after chapter, from the support to really well thought out comment about when the story was going. It was really, deeply appreciated so thank you to all for that. This really just started as a sort of thought experiment, like Steve and Bucky are basically married, right, but what if they broke up. Lol. Then, it became this monster of something. Let me know what you think of the conclusion, I'd love to know. The feedback has been so welcome, it's not like anything you can find irl as a professional writer and I think it really helped my writing so thank you again.  
> I will finish Steve's POV next, so if you're interested, subscribe to that one and I'll see you then!  
> <3


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